


Blue Bloods

by Kitkat3011



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Only One Bed, Paparazzi, Parties, Slow Burn, Wish Fulfillment, adding some more tags cause it looked a bit bare, eleven is the annoyance, is it enemies to lovers or is it just annoyance to lovers, not really though sorry, saying fake dating is a bit of a catfish but oh well, society au, theme park, this is quite long already I might have made a mistake, wow rich people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 71,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22225558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitkat3011/pseuds/Kitkat3011
Summary: John Smith would be a wanderer, free of everything but he's stuck with a legacy on his shoulders and society's watchful gaze. Determined to be left alone he's rather annoyed when he finds himself challenged by a short, brunette socialite who he can't seem to charm.
Relationships: Amy Pond/Rory Williams, Eleventh Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald, Eleventh Doctor/River Song (minor), Eleventh Doctor/Rose Tyler(past), Harold Saxon/Lucy Saxon, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler (minor), The Master/Lucy Saxon
Comments: 53
Kudos: 35





	1. Golden Brown

**Author's Note:**

> Right so new one! I'm still carrying on with 'Next Wednesday' but I really fancied giving an AU a try so I thought after watching Gilmore girls for the hundredth time what would be more fun than doing a society themed AU? so this monstrosity was born, we'll see where it goes. I've never done an AU before so I'm just trying to get to grips with it but here we go.
> 
> The Doctor is John Smith but I'll try and incorporate the name Doctor into it somehow
> 
> I view his dad as Patrick Stewart so if you're imagining what characters look like straight up search for his picture (Is that pure laziness on my part?) Either way enjoy we'll see wether this actually works

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I have overhauled the first chapter to make it longer and to make it flow better, I wrote it at three am originally and was so excited to get started on this I didn't bother to make my introduction fairly good so sorry please reread if you couldn't get through the first chapter x

John Smith is one of the most famous men in the world despite having one of the most common names in the world. When the words ‘technology’ and ‘money’ are paired with the name John Smith, it’s safe to assume the conversation is about those Smiths: the Smiths who own a multi-billion dollar corporation; the Smiths who privatised space travel; the Smiths who pride money and power above all else.

Now this particular John Smith, is the youngest in a long line of John Smiths and has quite a different reputation to his predecessors.  
From an onslaught of girls on his arm to the array of sports cars in his garage- the most prized being a navy blue Aston Martin- Mr Smith had developed a persona befitting his fortune. Scandal after scandal seemed to bounce across the headlines from a new fling on Friday to a first class holiday to ease the pain of the breakup by Tuesday.

Society had expectations. Education, then career, marry well and have children: in that specific order. His father had done it and his grandfather and his great-grandfather, they all fit perfectly and snugly into that specific box, the same box that John’s gangly limbs seemed to burst out of every time he tried to follow the same path.  
It wasn’t like he set out to find trouble, it just found him even when he was actively avoiding it like he had some magnetising force attracting problems to himself.  
However, when it came to the idea of settling down to grace the front page of a magazine and allow whichever weirdly obsessed ‘journalist’ to write a piece about his living room decor something within him was desperate to bolt and surely he couldn’t be blamed for that?

Now don’t let it be misunderstood, whilst he did tend to dabble in some questionable practises and would much rather spend his time doing exactly as he pleased, he was gifted with an incredible level of intelligence that led to his doctorate in astrophysics at Oxford. (wether he’d been good at this or not, his father had demanded he take the course.) When the time came to stop messing about with plans for the physical aspect of the company he would step up and go corporate as it was intended from the second he took his first breath-probably even before then. But right now there was no need and John’s philosophy has always been later rather than sooner.

He liked to think he was more than a spoiled, rich boy as it was clear to everyone right from the very beginning that this Smith prioritised more than careers, status and money- no, you see John Smith is a traveller.  
Whilst the tabloids might rant and rave for his love of the finer things in life and marvel at whatever sports car he chose to drive that day, they couldn’t be further from the truth because, after all, they didn’t _know_ him.  
At the drop of a hat John would abandon his research and fly, drive or hike to the furthest corners of the planet, purely for the thrill, a concept his father abhorred and his mother never fully understood. If he felt the need to see Thailand he’d be there for the sunrise and if he suddenly felt the urge to be in Cayo Coco he’d fly back around the world to see the matching sunset.  
It wasn’t something many understood; the exhilarating wave of freedom that poured over you when you could simply flee with no ties. John often thought humans gave themselves too many ties for fear of losing the most important ones. John would rather have no ties at all than any of significance and that is how he wished to stay.

At the age of seven he decided school was boring, a worthless hassle, and went on a great trek with his teddy (a ‘metal’ dog he nicknamed K-9) to the next town over to take in the sights. From this outing John Smith was nicknamed ‘wanderer’ by his mother- once she’d gotten over the ordeal- and he lived up to that name until her passing last year.

The glittering parties and revolving door of girlfriends who joined him on his journeys ceased to a halt. That was the last time he really allowed himself to have an important link to the world. His two best friends (his real family now) had each other and lived in New York. Despite this they were more than willing to come with him whenever it was needed so in a sense they didn’t count as something to weigh him down.  
The girlfriends were never really of importance anyway, not since Rose, but every single one of them seemed to wish they could be and John really didn’t have the energy or the patience or the heart left in him to explain _why_ he wasn’t interested in being with them.

Since the loss of his mother John Smith poured what’s left of his soul into his father’s company from behind the scenes. His inventions and ideas further space travel for the masses and his father makes billions from it. One day he will too.  
It’s yet another expectation that he will inherit the company, a collar around his neck that drags him back every time he finds a place he’d like to escape to and a constant reminder that he’s not the only one who will inherit. One day he’s expected to pass it on to his own child and right now he couldn’t imagine anything worse- raising a child in a loveless societal bred marriage.

Whilst attending university John did fall in love with a fellow socialite. It was believed to be almost Shakespearean in its origin and similarly it was just as tragic in its end. Rose Tyler, the beautiful, blonde heiress to the Vitex industry, was heavily regarded by their families, their friends, the papers and the public to be his one true love. It seemed everyone but them shared the same thought. Rose thought he was fun- she enjoyed the adventure but she didn’t love him and no matter how much he tried he didn’t love her. A small part of him wish they’d remained friends but he didn’t want to ruin her new relationship with circulating rumour.  
In the end he lost her due to the lives ahead of them. The lives preordained by the concept of ‘blue blood’. The lives destroyed by lack of choice.She was ready to do her duty as it were and give up her freedom; John definitely wasn’t.  
Rose is married now, the perfect trophy wife for another man. She smiles for the cameras and plans the perfect parties. Most of all she fulfils the role her family intended.

John Smith smiles for no cameras that are thrust in his face, attends no glamorous parties like he used to and as far as he is concerned will never fully live up to his fathers expectations.

————————————————

“I don’t understand why I have to meet them, I have absolutely no interest!” John bellowed after his father.

“You are a member of this family, therefore you will have interest.” His father snapped not even bothering to turn around as he stormed through the endless corridors causing a maid to leap away out of fright. These fights may be regular but the staff rarely have the ability to handle them.  
“This ‘family’ consists of you and me, it’s a pair at most!” He cried incredulously.  
“Exactly.” Smith Sr halted before turning to face John and jabbing his index finger into his chest.  
“It’s high time you got over this little attitude and got involved in the affairs of this family before you are the only one left, because Lord knows at this rate you will be.” The older man glared at him not for the first time.

“Father she’ll just be another empty-headed idiot who couldn’t live without daddy’s money funding her shopping trips- they’re all the same!” John’s eyes pleaded with his father more than his words. He really wasn’t ready to dip his toes back into the cess pit that was society especially not for some ditz with a credit card.  
This was the longest time he’d been at home since he was a child, a full year sat alone in his room or his office, drawing up plans for the spaceships and channeling his grief into something productive- at least that’s how his father put it. John suspected as long as he wasn’t embarrassing the family name as usual his father didn’t care how he handled his grief it at all.

“Well you’ve certainly met enough of them to have a good idea,” his father accused “I don’t care if she’s the biggest moron on the planet. I don’t care if she’s got two heads if I’m being frank. Her father has dealings with every major corporation across the globe except ours and thats going to bloody well change. You will sit through this dinner and you will be the face of charm itself or so help me, you’ll be in for a rude awakening son.” It was perfectly clear to John just how true that statement was. His father rarely cared about anything other than money.

The two men were inches apart at this point, eyes full of fury and fists balled.

“Have I made myself clear?” John managed to stand firm for a the briefest of moments before he admitted defeat and lost his fathers gaze, hanging his head. “I said, have I made myself clear?”

“Yes sir.” John sighed, knowing when to back down. He did it plenty enough.

—————————————

That’s how he found himself here, in one of those private members only clubs that towered above the skyline of London away from the rest of the general population (which is probably why the frequent customers liked it). The kind of place with only glass windows for walls which somehow correlates to the price of the scotch and the size of the tiny portions in a way John could never comprehend.

His father had insisted on one of his tailor-made suits (“ _Everyone wears them at the The Maldovarium_ ”) but he’d drawn the line at the silk tie- bowties are cooler.  
Now John Smith was finally dragged out of his dark room and seated at a table with a stunning view of the Thames but was instead focused on the view of the waitress with towering legs and a flirty smile.

“If you could refrain yourself for one outing that would be much appreciated.” His father remarked, not lifting his eyes from the overpriced menu, which of course made no difference to their extensive funds.

“Sorry, haven’t been on an ‘outing’ in a while,” John smirked unapologetically, still staring at the waitress.  
“By choice I might add.” His father closed the menu, a face filled with disappointment.  
Although that seemed to miraculously change into a wide, beaming smile, that if he was being honest John would say it terrified him: his father does not smile.

The reason for this drastic change in mood was another bland business man who, unlike his own father, still had a full head of hair; but exactly like his father had the latest suit without a crease. Since society’s manners had been engrained into him from a young age, John stood and shook hands with the man; his own fake smile plastered on to his face. The picture of charisma and charm.  
His brief stint of absence from the world hadn’t made him forget common courtesy after all.

Whilst his father was eagerly conversing with the man and guiding him to his seat, John saw the girl. Brown doe eyes lit by the sun through the endless glass windows met his and she extended a perfectly manicured hand.

“Hello.” She said stiffly with a nod of her head her chestnut brown curls bobbing. She was much smaller than him and it was quite…cute. He had to admit, there was worse company for dinner.  
At his father’s command John immediately fell into his perfected act of well-behaved gentleman shedding all his other personas: playboy, genius, grief-stricken, wanderer.  
He pulled out her chair but only received a quick “Thanks”. Usually they giggled or flipped their hair or did something…anything.  
Not this one.

He was watching her quite intently without even meaning to. Any pause in the conversation felt like an excuse to look her way. To watch the curve of her lip as she smiled politely or the way her button nose wrinkled when she laughed. It wasn’t that he liked her, no of course it wasn’t that he just found her fascinating that’s all. She was different in a strange way.

The conversation was delicately avoiding the topic of business, all of them knowing a game was being played by each member of the small party. A general rule of thumb was to leave those discussions to the end, for a variety of reasons all designed to help your cause.  
Instead, in mild-mannered tones with most likely false laughs, they discussed polo, mildly humorous boarding school stories (not the ones that made the tabloids) and the Smith estate.  
The house, or mansion to more accurately put it, was an endless, grey stone manor atop a hill imposing over the countryside landscape. There was one fairytale turret fashioned into the otherwise Tudor manor. The old panelling was mixed with years of add ons from different generations of Smiths who had left their mark, but as a child that stone turret with a staircase that wound its way to the top was forever John’s favourite.

His other decidedly more modern favourite was a garage big enough for 12 cars which happened to constantly be full. Tacked on to the grounds was a stable however that was much less used by the family. It was almost paradise for all those who didn’t live there but in John’s opinion, the London penthouse was more of a dream. Usually his father wasn’t there to hound him about marriage and there was no memory of his mother burning into him like the blinding light of the sun on his eyes.

However due to current circumstance (any way of not saying death) he was at the main house for a year, under the guise of helping his father cope with the guilt though in reality it was the only way to feel close to the only person he wanted to see but never would again.  
At least it was big enough to avoid Smith Sr most days. Thats the real bonus of wealth, not the lap of luxury you live in, but the ability to evade the people who value wealth too much.

The girl- Clara, he soon learned- hadn’t said much and had blatantly ignored him in what seemed like _contempt_ , she laughed politely at jokes his father made, answered questions when they were put to her and seemed to know a great deal about the goings on in the business world.  
However when John gave his signature lopsided smirk across the table ,as their fathers were immersed in a conversation about the stock market, she simply stared at him for a moment like she was reading his soul before returning to the dullest conversation in the world. Willingly!  
He just couldn’t understand this girl. She was different from the usual heiresses that accompany their fathers as a way of ‘creating bonds for the future generations’ or whatever nonsense his father spouted.  
She seemed to have more than three brain cells in her pretty, little head and could actually keep up with what was going on around her other than the location of the nearest champagne bottle. Normally, these girls were more than happy to sit and flirt with John whilst the elders dealt with trade deals etc. He would say she was a refreshing change yet she held him at such an arms length away he felt an overwhelming urge to simply say ‘sod this I’ve had enough and go home’.  
John Smith prized himself on his ability to entertain but this girl wouldn’t even give him the chance. She seemed to ooze disdain and he hadn’t even give her a good enough reason yet. Usually he liked to wait before he disappointed someone and usually they weren’t pretty girls who weren’t begging for marriage.

Whilst he was contemplating this he managed to miss how the conversation ended up here.

“Excellent Miss Oswald can stay with us!” His father cried, the happiness seeming a tad over done John thought before realising, this girl who couldn’t stand to be near him was going to be staying in his home for however long.  
It was never home sweet home before but it seemed his father wasn’t satisfied in his goal of making him miserable.  
His heart felt like it was going to thump out of his chest and honestly, he has never come closer to murdering his father.

As he was preparing to object, hoping that for whatever reason she had it this girl could put aside her dislike and help him, he saw the brunette look to her father for approval and gave another small nod to agree. Just like that.

For whatever reason unbeknownst to him, she was willing to go along with this plan. Feeling utterly betrayed by his father and this random girl simultaneously, he resigned himself to silence, not wanting to be the one to object because John knows what would happen if he dared.

The typical goodbyes were made and his father’s sullen temperament returned like the ice returning to a lake in a new winter and the rant on how “John should be more like Clara” and “could have tried harder to get involved with the business aspects” began.  
By now John was used to this one-sided conversation and knew there was no need or want for him to reply. It was his father’s most treasured time with his son, when he could point out his flaws with no argument, and who was John to take that simple pleasure away from him?

Instead he found himself thinking about a stubborn girl, about the first time his charm hadn’t worked and about the colour golden brown.

The colour of her eyes.


	2. Ever So Charming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: this chapter has undergone major remodelling cause I'm indecisive and also now recognise the need for better spacing and character development, who knew right?

“I can’t believe you did that!” She seethed, malice dripping from each word,  
“I am not a corporate spy! In case it escaped your notice I’m your daughter not an indentured servant!” Clara couldn’t believe him, he’d finally snapped.  
How could he make her stay with those people?  
The father was an atrocious suck up clearly hellbent on a business opportunity which he seemed to believe he would achieve through her, and the son- well she’d read all about _him_.  
It’a well known fact throughout society that John Smith was drenched in scandal, he practically reeked of it when she met him earlier. It seemed clear to her that he thought she’d fall for that pathetic act of his. Well she never had before and she doesn’t plan on it now.  
He’d flashed her a smile and acted as if he were charm itself oozing sophistication, but that's all it was: an act.  
Pure and simple. Clara was certainly not the kind useless tricks could work on, her mother had taught her better than that.

“Oh come now Clara, it’s hardly a great task. You are just living in a different mansion for a bit, excuse me if I’m not overcome with pity,” Linda, her bitch of a stepmother, piped up from behind a rather large wine glass. Her voice was thick with what was meant to be an aristocratic accent but the undertone was layered with something decidedly not.

“Last time I checked it had nothing to do with you, why don’t you go back to spending my dad’s money?” Clara snapped, for once not caring how much of a brat she sounded.  
She never wanted to see those people again, she agreed to the dinner as an obligation due to her position, not to quality bonding time.

“Clara.” He father finally interrupted giving her _that_ look. “Gallifrey Industries is the future, any business man worth his salt can see that my darling, this will just give us the push in the right direction, I’m eager they’re eager. I just need you to make sure there isn’t any _underlying_ issues whilst you’re there.” Her father finished before taking a sip of scotch, a signal Clara recognises to mean: unnegotiable.

“How long,” Clara sighed before slumping onto the Parisian couch, she had no moves left to fight, he had her beat; like always.

She constantly seemed to cave whenever someone asked something of her. It had been like that since she was 16 around the time she lost her mother, if a favour needed doing Clara was always the one stepping up to the plate even if she didn’t intend to.  
A therapist had suggested it was a fear or losing people that triggered this intense need to please but Clara often thought should people not be glad of it rather than diagnosing it?  
The only one who really suffered was her after all. Everyone else seemed to come out on top.

Even when her father presented her with the extreme, like remodelling her mothers art studio into a den for Linda’s equally insufferable chihuahua simply because ‘ _Linda needed a change_ ’ she would agree to keep the peace. Funnily, when it suited them no one found cause for complaint over her tendency to please.

That’s why now when she was presented with something she really didn’t want to do, she immediately gave up her fight and conceded to his control. She never entertained the thought that he did it on purpose, she knew her father loved her but sometimes she wished he would relinquish his hold and let her make her own decisions; or at least recognise the situations he forces her into.

“Let’s say a month,” Clara’s eyes went wide with protest and as she opened her mouth to speak her father simply led up his finger to silence her (something he’d done since she was a child and hadn’t realised she grew out of years ago.)  
Leaning back further into his chair he swigged the rest of his scotch and said definitively his eyes burning into hers. “One month.”

——————————————

People bustled past her from near the crack of dawn that Wednesday morning, everyone had something to do but her.  
Well that was always the way as far as Clara was concerned.  
She never seemed to do anything for herself. At all.  
She’d been molly-coddled her whole life and it only worsened after her mum got sick, just once she’d like the freedom to wear something she’s gone and bought in away that she liked without the input of a whole bleeding PR team.  
She’d never been particularly adventurous- especially after that emotionally scarring day on Blackpool beach- that was always her mum. Clara seemed to have inherited her dad’s level head, well, more accurately it had been drummed into her.

She kept the book her mother treasured ‘101 places to see’. A part of her yearned to go and fill in the blanks that shouldn’t be there. To create lasting memories of her own but somehow she never felt brave enough.  
At times her own mind screamed at her to get a grip and just go, see everything and do anything and other times she found herself wishing to be whisked away; to let someone else make the decision about where to go and to bring her along for the ride.  
But then logic set in and she would remind herself of her life and what she had to do. The members of the board might not like it but she was inheriting that company and she’d fight for it. At least that’s what she told herself in the mirror when she was nervous…it never really went to plan.

A multitude of cases were being packed around her in a whirlwind of speed and efficiency, towering boxes filled with every colour designer shoe and a matching bloody hat.  
Clara preferred whatever was comfy but as her stepmother loved to say like a broken record ‘ _We have an image to_ _preserve_.’.  
Whatever image that gold digger thought she had was truly smudged in Clara’s opinion but no one ever seemed to listen to that. Any opinion she had was usually ignored or met with a ‘that’s nice’ in whatever condescending tone the speaker fancied.

She was the future face of a company the board would never trust her to run and that face had to be constantly perfected. Her stylist had suggested something warm for the winter which Clara was grateful for- they never really seemed to take into account the practicality of these ridiculous outfits- and she found herself in a hugging, tartan skirt that looked like it may as well have been sold on the high street- although the price tag may beg to differ.

Begrudgingly, she trudged down the stairs to where her father and stepmother were waiting to greet her by the great, front door.  
Whilst they may have thought it was a nice send-off, Clara could only compare it to a funeral march. Where she was the corpse.

“Oh bye bye Clara dear I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time,” Linda simpered, with a smile faker than her nose. She topped off her loving stepmother act with a pathetic two fingered wave before strutting back into the house to screech at a poor, unsuspecting member of staff. Probably about the lack of alcohol in her hand.

Her father on the other hand gripped her into a bear hug and whispered into her ear “Please be good my darling, try and get along with these people. It would really help with business deals,” he gripped her upper arms and gave her a weak smile that seemed to say it all: business comes first.

It always does.

—————————————

Mr Oswald closed the gigantic doors behind him once Clara was safely in the back of the Rolls Royce and had given him a small wave goodbye. He knew she wasn’t pleased but it was for her own good. At least that’s what the board of governors had advised.  
As he turned back round with a slightly guilty conscience, he was greeted by his new wife with folded arms and an impatiently tapping foot.

“I thought you struck that deal with Gallifrey industries weeks ago,” She pouted with a raised eyebrow, pretending not to be amused at Clara’s misfortune.

“No no dear, months ago. This is quite a different kind of business.” He said wrapping an arm around her shoulders guiding her back through the extensive house.

“Oh? What kind of business is it then?”  
“A merger of sorts.” He replied coyly.

“An Oswin-Gallifrey merger?” She asked a glint in her eye as she had already anticipated his response. Linda had been and always will be a sucker for any bit of gossip. It’s how she found herself living in the lap of luxury and she certainly had an expensive taste, if her Jimmy Choo’s were anything to go by.

“No,” He responded with a matching glint. “An Oswald-Smith merger.”

——————————————————

“Hey Mickey,” Clara greeted the cockney driver as always.

“Morning Clara, how are you feeling?” Mickey grinned back at her from the mirror. He’d always treated her like a normal person in the short time he’d had the job and in return she had always encouraged his dreams of doing more and being something. He’d often talk about going into defence and Clara was listening out for any possible ins through one of her dad’s associates.  
He was a strangely comforting presence in a world of glitz and glam which was decidedly fake and Clara was determined to keep that small piece of actual reality close.

“Imagine sea-sickness without the being on the sea,” She said reclining back into the leather seat and pulling out the latest book she was devouring to pass the time.

“So…sick then?” Mickey said with a slight laugh not fully understanding her predicament.  
“Nail on the head.” Clara murmured quietly with a small, toothless smile before falling into a land that wasn’t here.

———————————————————

He’d been pacing all day. So much so he may have worn a hole into the carpet.

She was coming today.

His father had insisted on yet another suit which John thought was rather pointless since she was going to be here for a whole month (unfortunately) and that means she was going to see him in other clothes besides a suit. Why not start how we mean to carry on?  
Sadly, that was not his father’s point of view.

Adjusting his bowtie in the hall mirror, again, he couldn’t help but wonder why he was so nervous about this particular guest.  
Girls had come and gone before- in both senses of the word when it comes to John- but this one seemed to get under his skin; he was always a sucker for a challenge. Whilst he had made the conscious decision to step into the shadows and let the world tick on without him dazzling in the limelight, something about this one girl in particular made him want to fall back into his role and to play up to his extravagant persona gifted to him by the same people who shamed him for it.

She seemed genuinely irritated by him. He assumed she probably read the papers declaring him ‘the bad boy bachelor’ making his way through every bar, club and country, but those are all extremely exaggerated- he didn’t crash the limo he just happened to be very drunk _inside_ the crashing limo. There is a big difference!  
Nevertheless this Clara girl was a puzzle, one that he could solve. One that he was determined to solve. He had nothing else to do of course.

Perhaps it was because she couldn’t stand him that made it all the more fun like some sort of programming in his brain that couldn’t rest until he had her on side. He always seemed to be like that. The harder the puzzle the more he needed to work it out and she was one impossible girl that he could work out.

The screech of tires from a car outside snapped him away from his thoughts and the crunch of gravel underfoot developed that wave of nausea into a tsunami.

Here she comes.

The creak of the door signalled the end of his freedom and the start of this cat and mouse game he himself had unknowingly fabricated. His father beamed towards her, his face twisted into a cheery smile that John could never hope to receive as the resident disappointment.

“Clara! Clara! How wonderful to see you!” His father near as damn sprinted towards her clasping her hand in his and shaking it throughly, “This is great, just so wonderful! I have no other words to describe it,” they both laughed that fake societal laugh, when something isn’t actually funny at all but it’s only polite to laugh and smile- John had perfected his ‘society laugh’ as he dubbed it years ago after he was told off by his father for asking “What’s so funny?” at age seven.

“John, come greet Miss Clara, I’m sure you’re both excited to see each other again.” Smith Sr turned a gave John a warning look. His father was somehow under the impression that he cared about his warnings or threats at all. No, John found his warnings as a goal post, to see how ridiculous he could play it without getting reprimanded.

“ _Thrilled_.” John said with a only a hint of sarcasm, he raised his eyebrow at Clara as he came forward to greet her almost daring her to call him out on it but was shocked when she looked him dead in the eye and retorted with:

“ _Over the moon_.” Raising her own eyebrow as if to say ‘checkmate’.  
John stifled back a chuckle as his father actually believed them- he didn’t realise she wasn’t such a goodie goodie after all.

“Excellent excellent, I knew you two would get along when you met you just seem right- don’t you think they just seem right?” He asked a poor maid, who was unfortunate enough to be passing by at that precise moment and John almost winced in sympathy as she managed to stammer out a brief “Of course sir, just right” before speeding away as far as possible terrified that she hadn’t been convincing enough.

“John! Don’t just shake her hand, she’s a lady.” His father gestured towards them and John knew exactly what his father was hinting at. He placed a soft kiss on her knuckles before looking up at her through his lashes, his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Clara’s eyes had grown wider (if that was possible), and John thought rather smugly he’d definitely thrown her off her game. A little wave of satisfaction came over him before she pulled away from his grip and returned to her usual stony demeanour she saved just for him

“We’ll have the staff bring your bags in, I’m sure you have plenty for the whole month.”

“Ah yes Sir, I’ve brought my own department store,” his father barked a laugh which John thought was a tad overkill.  
“You see son? So charming and witty,” Mr Smith linked his arm through hers and guided her through the endless house only turning back to glare at John when he said “Oh yes ever so charming.”  
John didn’t wait for another glare before dutifully following on.

“You have a beautiful home,” Clara mused which was possibly the first completely honest thing she’d said since arriving.  
The walls were high and decorated with priceless art from beautiful pieces that played on your soul to portraits of the family through time.  
The carpeted areas were plush and cream in contrast to the mahogany flooring elsewhere. Flowers adorned each end table in crystal vases in an array of colours that seemed to breathe life into a place otherwise heading for a cold war.  
Each sitting room was decadent and colour coordinated and she assumed this was for the purpose of entertaining guests like herself. Usually the guests weren’t staying quite as long her mind seemed to hiss to her as of course no one else would care to listen to her thoughts.  
Chandeliers hung throughout the rooms until they reached the library which was instead lit cosily with lamps.

Clara turned in awe- this put the Oswald library to shame.  
The place was so big it required a ladder to climb each bookshelf, which were carved with a different scene from Greek mythology to Shakespeare’s classics.  
Each shelf was stuffed and perfectly organised in contrast to her more messy and soulful approach to categorising books.

The fire crackled in the corner and the whole room was filled with a contrasting warmth that felt safe and comforting despite her new surroundings. Clara could have stayed in here forever, content to follow a twisted maze of shelves allowing herself to get lost with no possibility of escape because unlike Blackpool beach- here was like home. Here was like her mother.

There were multiple dark wood tables throughout the room that stood bare and mostly unused, but tucked away in the furtherest corner was one table in particular piled high with books and paper and a computer softly whirring away at the centre of the great mass. It was the only part of the house she’d seen so far that allowed a single atom out of place and she instantly felt a pull toward it as a sense of normality in a Wonderland she was drowning in.

“John, I thought I told you to clear away that bloody desk when we have company.” His father hissed as much as he could with said company present.  
Clara noted the subtle pink that rose in his cheeks from his father’s harsh words and felt a surge of pity that caused her to blurt out,  
“No no it’s quite alright I have my own table exactly like that at home, every classic I can get my hands on is there or stacked up by my armchair,” She smiled softly hoping for whatever bizarre reason that she had saved John. Whilst her own father seemed to use her for his own gain, from the small time she’d known them, it was like John’s father didn’t want him around at all and to her that was a far worse fate.

“My dear you are just so studious, it’s wonderful to see from a young person these days,” Clara simply bobbed her head in agreement almost stunned at the difference in opinion when it was anyone but his son. That didn’t stop her noticing John’s slack jaw at her rescue attempt.  
She made a mental note to not make a habit of that.

As Mr Smith and Miss Oswald left the library to continue the tour, John was frozen on the spot, for once consumed by a thought other than simply being the only one who can do wrong in his father’s eyes.  
But instead by one singular thought:  
She helped him.


	3. Playboy of the Planets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: this chapter has now also been edited, aren't I getting so much done? If I did this in the first place maybe I wouldn't be having this problem now but we won't discuss that

The tour was interrupted by the sharp ring of a phone which was closely followed by Mr Smith profusely apologising and answering rather sharply to the person on the other end of the line.

Clara and John stood awkwardly looking anywhere but at each other.

John had his hands clasped behind his back and started rocking on his heels, whistling to puncture the deafening silence.

If there was one thing he couldn’t bear it was silence. Many of his teachers said the reason he talked so much was because he loved the sound of his own voice, as usual they were wrong. In actual fact it was because he just couldn’t stand the feeling of the heavy, uncomfortable weight that settled over him when anything was too quiet. He had to have some form of noise or else he was alone with his thoughts ad he didn’t particularly enjoy that. Often times he found himself talking aloud just to keep that feeling at bay.

His father returned rubbing the back of his bald head, which John feared would one day match his own unlike the mass of floppy hair he had now.

“I’m so sorry Clara, I’ve had an urgent call from the head office, I’m going to have to join the conference call,” John would assume he was being genuinely apologetic however there was something else there, a suspicious glint in his eye. Something that was very rare when it came to Mr Smith.

For a man who had so much to be happy about he rarely ever showed it on his face and even then it was much rarer for it to reach his eyes.

This abrupt change set alarm bells ringing in John’s head, after years of experience he knew when his father was up to something.

“Oh that’s quite alright I can just go get settled into my room,” Clara started, turning to go as she spoke, until she was interrupted.

“Nonsense, for a start your things won’t be unpacked yet you don’t want to be apart of all that,” He turned to face John a smile forming at his mouth that screamed ‘danger’ leaving John with the sickening feeling that he may have been right before. “John why don’t you show our lovely guest the grounds? There’s plenty to see, oh you’d love it in the summer Clara it’s simply stunning.”

He knew it. He’d be willing to bet everything he had on that phone call being prearranged. It wouldn’t be too far of a stretch.

“Uh,” for once John Smith was speechless.

“Don’t just stand there boy, take the girl on a tour,” his father commanded before stalking off for his ‘conference call’. “Oh and John!” He called back without turning round “Change out of that suit first, there’s no need to be so formal.”

Sometimes, just sometimes John could envision punching his father.

“Right then,” he shrugged at Clara “I’ll just go change, meet you back at the door?” He posed it as a question but left before she had time to answer unwilling to drag this out longer than necessary.

——————————————

Coming back into the beautiful foyer, Clara spotted one of her countless shoe trunks. The bright pastel colours and stark whites the boxes were decorated in were vibrant against the natural brown, wood panelling of the wall. The contrast felt so great to Clara, part of her felt like she was intruding; leaving an unwanted mark or a great change.

Unlike many of the people around her, Clara didn’t take pleasure in taking up much space nor did she enjoy changing things to fit her.

Whatever other people enjoyed she went with, even if it made her unhappy at times.

Silently praying for a pair of converse that wouldn’t break her feet in the name of fashion whilst rambling about the property, she searched through the trunks, heaving a sigh of relief to see one of her prayers answered.

The battered, burgundy shoes slipped straight on (she’d worn them in enough) and she was sure her stylist wouldn’t faint immediately at the sight since they seemed to match the rest of the outfit fine.

Personally, she hadn’t ever really cared what anyone thought of her outfit- it was her business after all- but apparently ‘ _we shape the publics opinion and perception_ ’ according to the PR team. This was the only argument they ever presented and she had never managed to find a suitable counterpoint.

She plopped herself down in a plush armchair by the door to wait for John and ignored the flurry of activity going on around her: she was never allowed to help and was often declared a nuisance if she did so Clara learned a long time ago her best bet was to tune it out.

Suddenly she heard a mass thundering down the main staircase that almost made her heart leap out of her chest in fright.

That man just didn’t seem to care, there was no grace in his movements it was all limbs like a giraffe.

She’d never seen him this casual before.

Just normal.

He wore a black guns n roses t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up even higher and jeans just as dark to match. She tried to ignore he was wearing his own pair of converse to match. _Great minds_ her head taunted.

She’d never seen his arms before, she couldn’t help but focus on the muscle definition as he came bumbling down. He wasn’t completely unattractive she wasn’t so proud that she couldn’t admit that. It was getting easier to see why girls seemed to throw themselves at him.

But that wasn’t the case here she seemed to insist to herself.

He was shoving said arms into a dark jacket as he moved with no coordination which was evident as he nearly tripped over his own feet.

“Right!” He said with a clap of his hands “Let’s dooooooooooo it,”

“Was that a Blackadder reference?” Clara asked shyly which John had to admit was kind of cute. He didn’t expect her to be shy, stuck up yes but not shy.

“Yeah, yeah it was. Not many people catch those,” her cheeks betrayed her as they started blushing furiously which only caused John to smirk more.

They were heading for the door when he abruptly stopped.“Hang on a second- SONIC!”

He bellowed out into his cupped hands, his voice reverberating through the house.

Clara heard the sound of claws scratching along the floor as a German shepherd came bounding round the corner, its tongue lolling to one side and its fluffy tail wagging furiously eager to see his master.

“You named your dog Sonic?” She asked half laughing, half looking at him with utter bewilderment.

“Yeah it’s a brilliant name for a dog! I considered Susan but it didn’t really fit,” he joked back.

“Oh right so she’s a girl,” Clara bent down to rub Sonic’s head and was instead greeted with both paws being planted on her knees and a nose rubbing against her face.

“No, he’s a boy that’s why I didn’t name him Susan.”

Clara just stared at this man, this completely insane man.

—————————————

The grounds went on forever and it was a shame they didn’t have a better day for it.

The sky was in a permanent state of grey, without a cloud in the sky it seemed to just have the colour drained from it along with the white sun, lacking it’s usual yellow hue.

Clara and John walked in step with each other with Sonic jumping around in front. It was clear from the smile on John’s face he adored that dog and Clara thought the look suited him.

They were walking in mostly silence neither of them particularly comfortable with the other yet, though at different spots John would point things out like a proper tour guide, with a terrible accent to match, taking his task ‘seriously’.

Clara assumed this man took nothing seriously, from the way he dressed to the scrapes he got himself into. For instance right now he had tied one of his ridiculous bowties around his wrist to compensate for the fact that he was wearing a t-shirt, which in all honesty is only slightly less cool than when he actually wears them.

“You don’t like me.” He said more as a statement than a question, finally breaking the silence.

Clara stopped unsure of what to say. He certainly didn’t beat around the bush when he wanted to.

He turned continuing to walk but backwards, choosing to face her instead.

“What makes you think that?” Clara tried to say nonchalantly a steady fire rising up the skin of her neck, she never really dealt well with situations like this. No one was quite as blunt as this John Smith. She much preferred when everyone pretended to get along just to keep the peace. She might not like him very much but at least _she_ tried to remain civil.

He chuckled at that. A low sound that wasn’t completely unpleasant to the ear. Ok, it was extremely pleasant to the ear.

“You put on a show with everyone else. Every person I’ve seen you interact with gets a sweet smile and doe eyes and nothing but manufactured warmth. In all honesty you have my father eating out of the palm of your hand, something I haven’t managed to do in 28 years and most importantly you even seem to be nice to Sonic, which I’m sure he appreciates,” she smiled at that.

“Well as long as Sonic is happy,” She began walking again, allowing him to continue.

“Not me though. There was no show there. Just clear disdain and I would quite frankly like to know why.” He turned his head slightly to look at her as she swiped a stray lock of hair behind her ears.

“I think you know fine well nicely why.” Clara said quite sharply. She was being harsh. Even she could hear it laced in her voice. This was new for her and she wasn’t quite sure if she liked it. By now, if she were anywhere else, she would have backed down; she would make a quiet apology and hope no feelings were hurt.

But not with him.

Something about him made her want to keep going.

He was like a raging fire that spread to those around him and now she was on fire too. For once in her life she would stay strong. She _had_ to stay strong or she was going to go insane.

“Nope. Thats the point of asking Miss Oswald.” He bumped into her shoulder playfully but received a stony gaze in return.

“‘ _Mr John Smith, the playboy of the planets_ ’,” she mocked the newspaper headline with jazz hands.

“That was actually quite clever when you think about it, I am the future of space travel- at least so I’ve been told.” He seemed to gaze off at the end like a man who had many other ideas.

“You see that’s not the point, I think you’ll find the word I’m focusing on is playboy.”

“Why disappointed you won’t be the first?” He smirked again. God it was infuriating. Well maybe the kind of infuriating where you’d ask him to do it again. Just maybe.

“With you? Down boy. I have absolutely no interest in-” and with that crushing rejection her foot gave way and she found herself crashing into John because the universe has all the time in the world to make her miserable. Seriously, it might have to find a new hobby because the powers that be were pushing Clara to the brink.

She was clinging onto his neck for support trying to drag herself up to stand like a normal person and couldn’t miss the grin she wanted to wipe from his smug face.

“Really no interest? Coming from the girl leaping into my arms, don’t be annoyed if I don’t take that claim seriously.”

“You know fine well nicely, I tripped you absolute git.” She said swatting him with her arm after she had unwound them from his neck, however his hands still lingered on her waist from where he’d been holding her up “You can let go of me now.” Now it was her turn to smirk back at him, “if anything I think it might be you who’s interested in me.” Ok. Definitely new for Clara. Flirting was a rarity. Some part of her enjoyed it immensely with the tall man in front of her. The rest of her whole heartedly disagreed.

He sniffed the air before calling for Sonic, walking a few paces behind her. She could hear him muttering to the dog as he went.

“You’re rather attached.” she called out.

“Yes you see he is a living creature. It’s no different than being attached to you, though I’m sure we’d struggle to find someone who is.” He grumbled still irritated from before.

“Well the thing is I can actually respond with more words than woof,”

“Well the thing is,” he almost mimicked her, “woof happens to be a lot more interesting than anything else you’ve said thus far.” He bit back.

“Oh really?” She twisted round just to glare at him “and pray tell what do you consider ‘interesting?”

“Physics, literature, little bit of gossip every now and then and how you feel when you look into my eyes,” he taunted her clearly baiting.

“I can answer that last one,” Clara smiled coyly drawing herself closer to him. (If she was going to change her entire way of being for one conversation she might as well go all out.) Seeing her bat her eyelashes at him like that John nearly had a heart attack before he felt her hand whack him across the arm “Complete and utter loathing.”

“Well they do say you can’t have hatred without love,”

“God you think you are so clever.” She snapped stepping even closer if that were possible.

“On the contrary,” he bent down to whisper in her ear, sending an unwanted shiver down her spine “I know I’m so clever.” Her nostrils flared and before she knew what she was doing she was storming off back to the main house, tour be damned. The only sounds in the whole of the countryside was John Smith’s howling laughter.

——————————

She’d attempted to go to the room they had assigned her but was immediately shooed out with only one foot in the door.

You’d think with all that power and status she was supposed to have she’d be allowed a strop in her own, temporary room.

Instead she made her way to the library, a haven in any place that had one. If anything reading a book would take her mind off of things or one thing in particular.

She hadn’t meant to get so emotional. Emotions were something she had kept under wraps for years, tucked away in the furthest corner of her mind, purely for her own understanding. No one knew what she really thought and usually she preferred it to stay that way.

Yet here she was arguing with a man she had just met, simply because he annoyed her like nobody else. If she actually thought about it logically for a moment, she’d realise what John Smith actually did was challenge her and when he did he took her seriously.

As it stands, she didn’t think about it logically and instead continued to grumble about the unfairness of it all until she found herself at the door to the library.

The marble fireplace was roaring, a comforting sensation and sound that suited this room perfectly and filled her with a sense of home that she never believed she would associate with anything belonging to John Smith.

She made sure to avoid the cluttered table at the back, she didn’t need to know what he got up to in here and she was certain he wouldn’t want her snooping- or maybe he would? He seemed like the kind who likes attention wherever and whenever he can get it, he’d probably be thrilled at the mere thought of her inspecting his pile of books.

Above the fireplace was a great, blank space that looked big enough for another painting or perhaps a mirror yet they had left it empty. Well judging by the nail they had actually removed something.

Clara focused her attentions on the ornate bookshelves instead, each of the carvings more beautiful than the last. She ran her fingers along the spines of the books before plucking a worn copy of pride and prejudice from the shelf.

She doesn’t know why she’s picked it.

Of course she adores it but perhaps there must be a specific reason for wanting to read it now.

Pointedly ignoring _that_ niggling thought she opened the book to find writing scrawled in the gaps along the page. She flipped through each page and sure enough there was at least one note on each and every one of them.

Forgetting the actual writing of the book she nestled into the chair by the fire and began reading each handwritten note.

She was in fits by chapter six. Each note as pointless as the last ‘ _consider this: we add_ _zombies_ ’ and ‘ _perhaps Mr Darcy had a point when he said she wasn’t pretty enough, who are we to judge?_ ’.

Clearly sarcastic in nature Clara found herself immersed in the conversation the previous reader had began. She was tempted to find a pen to add her own thoughts and answer the silly questions posed but thought that would be an intrusion. Her father always told her to wait for an invite- never assume.

The writing changed every so often, sometimes it was crazy with massive loops scrawled across the page and other times it was in a small, delicate cursive (those tended to be the more poetic thoughts). It really did read like a conversation so it was safe bet that there were multiple people adding their thoughts.

Her curiosity piqued, she went back to the bookshelf and retrieved another book by Jane Austen ‘Emma’.

Again it was filled with little drabbles, thoughts and feelings. She flicked through landing on a random page and was greeted with ‘ _I still stand by ‘Clueless’ being the best adaption of this_ ’, giggling she continued on until she reached her own personal favourite quote. She was intrigued to know what the noters thought about it: ‘ _if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more_ ’.

Sure enough the cursive writing was present ‘ _Wanderer, find someone who makes it impossible for you talk about how much you love them_ ’.

Clara had no idea who Wanderer was but she could sense the pain, this page in particular was stained with tears that had since dried despite the grief that clearly lingered amongst the pages.

She couldn’t help but agree nodding along with whoever put the pen to paper on this specific page. She’d never known a love like that. Ever. She’d dated of course, each one being a premeditated match, but she was consistently unable to talk about how much she loved them not for the reasons presented here but because she never did.

However, seeing the small curves and loops of this opinion made her heart, for lack of a better word, flutter. The idea of it suddenly seemed stunning, beautiful and almost magic. In a way she never considered before, at least to this depth, she wanted that kind of impossible love.

She wondered if it could possibly be John, who wrote these thoughts, but the idea of him seeing this kind of beauty in the written word seemed laughable. It was even more unlikely that he could possibly _read_ Jane Austen never mind _enjoy_ it and he certainly didn’t have the capacity to turn it into laughable comedy.

A cold, wet nose brushed along her hand, shocking her back to reality. Sonic was back inside his tail thumping rhythmically into the side of her chair, a happy smile on his face (at least that’s what it looked like to Clara).

“Hey buddy,” she cooed rubbing one of his ears softly receiving a small whine in return, “Where’s John? I thought you’d stick to him like glue…” Obviously not expecting an answer Clara returned to the notes in the books in front of her as Sonic settled himself in front of the fire, clearly a routine for the dog.

She smiled a soft smile at the fluffy heap on the floor and started reading to him “I cannot make speeches, Emma. If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me.” Some would call her insane for reading to a dog. She considered it more relaxing that psychotic though she would most likely never do it with an audience. Judgement was something else Clara didn’t handle well.

Clara considered when the Parisian clock on the mantle chimed that perhaps this was John’s routine too and that’s why Sonic had chosen to come to the library of all places. For the briefest of seconds she worried that she’d kept him from the library when she heard a voice call out.

“What are doing with that.” It was sharp, it was dark. It was John.

Her eyes met his. Once traces of laughter and a permanent smiled resided in there but instead they were purely black with fury.

“It- it was just on the bookshelf I didn’t know it was yours,” she managed to stammer out, it was hard to believe that the funny carefree man from before stood in front of her now. This was what she dreaded most of all. She’d let herself fight back, argue and almost flirt and now she was far too comfortable. She’d intruded and it was wrong.

She should have kept her head down like usual rather than getting smart, she had never intended to hurt him.

This is why she didn’t let her guard down, she was supposed to remain detached. She’d broken one of her only rules.

Sonic had stood to attention and went to reside by his master. A lump rose in her throat, a steady red filled her face and she did the only thing left to do: she fled.

She planned on putting as much distance between them as possible, she couldn’t handle real conflict. This was the same as when she bowed down to her father’s commands or gave in to Linda’s demands, she wasn’t prepared to deal with disagreements.

However something caused her to stop once she was out of the room.

The sound of crying, not the wailing of a child desperate for a dolly but the crying of someone who wishes not to be caught.

A soft gentle weeping, that despite being quieter and private, broke you heart in a way a screaming tantrum failed every time.

Peering round the door she caught a glimpse of the impervious, playboy John Smith sunk into the armchair she had been sat in, crying over the very same page she had read allowed.

——————————————

He’d returned to his room after a while. He had cried openly for the first time in months and the way his head spun he couldn’t decide if it was a good feeling or a terrible one.

After the first two months of his mother’s death, his father had callously informed him that the typical mourning period was over and all but confirmed he was no longer allowed to publicly cry.

It wasn’t the first and it wouldn’t be the last time that his father prioritised appearance over people. Even over the supposed love of his life, even over his only child.

He was desperate to talk to his best friends in the entire universe. Nothing else mattered and they would understand.

He pulled up his chair to the computer and rang Amy, hoping they would be awake.

They had grown up together in England and attended the same boarding schools and even the same university, but since Amy had taken over the publishing empire left to her by her Aunt Sharon they’d moved out to New York so Amy wouldn’t have to travel all the time. This decision had left John even more isolated than before and whilst he would never begrudge them moving on with their lives, he often found himself missing his two best friends.

“Doctorrrrrrrr,” her Scottish accent drawled loudly from the computer screen.

“Alright Pond? Where’s the Roman,” it took seconds for them to fall into their old ways, the kind of ease you only have with those closest to you.

“RORY!” Amy called, he couldn’t help but beam when he saw the pair of them sat in front of the screen. No matter what happened it was always him and the Ponds against the world.

The ginger hair and the nose mostly filled the screen and John had to refrain from teasing them too much, he needed their advice after all.

“Not that we don’t love hearing from you but, what do you want?”

“Thanks Amy, absolutely lovely sentiment. Couldn’t I just be calling for a nice chat? Bit of a catchup?” He looked at them with a face of sincerity before all three broke down laughing.

“Yeah right ok even I heard that, the issue is my new ‘lodger’ of sorts,” he went on a tangent explaining his latest troubles with Miss Oswald and barely paused for breath.

He stumbled through talking about how from the start he was the only one she didn’t like and rounded off with their (well, his) blowout in the library.

When he was finished he felt the tension go from his shoulders, “So Ponds as the only loving parents I have left what advice do you have to give?” He looked to them expecting the usual warm comments from Rory but Amy got there first.

“You are an idiot!” It always sounded harsher coming from her, he wasn’t sure how she managed it.

“What? Pond I’m stung.”

“No seriously, you very evidently have a crush on this Clara girl, cause we all know how much you enjoy a challenge, and you went and fucked it up right off the bat by scaring her senseless”

“I didn’t scare her senseless,” he scoffed.

“Doctor we’ve seen you when you’re angry. You scared her senseless.” Rory chimed in.

“Oh Oh I see how it is, you’re ganging up on me now- happy wife happy life ey Rory?”

They rolled their eyes obviously used to his opposition to criticism. “Stop it Doctor, go find her and apologise, maybe explain exactly why you flipped out on her?”

“Well I’m not doing that.”

“Stubborn as a mule. I’m getting Rose Tyler flashbacks,” she declared dramatically with a hand to her forehead. “Well if you can’t take our advice we’ll leave you to figure it out on your own,” Amy taunted in a singsong voice hoping to illicit some sort of response.

“Alright, alright- you know Pond you really are the worst. Must be the ginger in you.”

“OI-” he managed to hang up before he had to deal with the fallout of that jokey comment.

Making his mind up and physically psyching himself up, he came to the conclusion that (as usual) the Ponds were right and he would have to apologise for the greater good and the harmony of the house for the next month.

Of course they were only right about that one specific thing. Nothing else. At least that’s what he told himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I've decided that if Doctor Who wasn't a family show Amy Pond would totally be the type to swear. A lot. For evidence to back up my claim please refer to any Scottish person ever


	4. Never Let Us Near The First Editions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: look at me gooooooooo, now I've got the two longest chapters to edit and if I'm being entirely honest I'm not looking forward to it, ah well c'est la vie

A tentative knock came from the other side of her door.

She wanted to ignore it, she really did, but she’d learnt her lesson. People pleasing seemed to work, whatever new tactic she had demonstrated on John Smith was a bad idea and it was by far better to stick to what she knows.

She’d finally been allowed into her new room for the month and was pleased to note that despite her company at least she’d be living in comfort.

The place was balancing along the line of old and modern, as it seemed that only recently it had been renovated to keep up with the times. Somehow it still clung to its past, the lingering feel of someone else’s presence was woven into the walls, like thread repairing a garment.

The newly-laid carpet was a light cream and heavenly soft between her toes and resting on top of it was an ornate, antique mirror.

Her window had it’s own seat decorated with cushions, so she could sit, content, watching the gardens below, the old Georgian bird bath acting as a centre piece for the rose gardens that seemed to bloom in every colour imaginable.

In simple terms: it would do. She had whole-heartedly planned to barricade herself in for the entirety of the month after the incident in the library.

Clearly fate had other plans.

Reluctantly, heaving herself off of the grand four-poster bed, Clara made her way to the door her feet weighing like she was walking through a swamp not on a plush carpet. She really didn’t want to deal with whoever was on the other side of that door.

Clara opened it only slightly and peeked through, ready to politely ask whoever it was to go away.

After seeing John like that; the fury that swirled in his eyes like a whirlpool and a flame at the same time, she just wanted to go home.

To be safe.

Where a man who named a dog Sonic and laughed with his whole body- especially his eyes- didn’t turn into a man of anger who caused fear and anguish with the slightest word. A man who wasn’t so complicated. Something about him though, made her want to stay while at the same time she yearned to flee.

The only answer is: John Smith is a walking contradiction, and he was turning her into one too.

Amidst her thoughts of home and John himself, she thought she was imagining him stood on the other side of the door. Realisation soon hit that no she wasn’t, he was really there and looking rather sheepish.

“Can I come in?” He asked barely above a whisper.

She was going to slam the door, she almost did, but then Clara’s nature seemed to kick in. She prioritised others ,always had and always will even though she didn’t particularly enjoy it, so she knew she’d let him in even with the urge to do the exact opposite screaming loudly inside of her.

There was something about those eyes that changed her mind as soon as they met hers. The same eyes that were once aglow with rage and fire and a bottled storm, now only showed sorrow, regret and pain.

Old eyes: another contradiction to the young man.

She said nothing and simply stepped aside allowing the door to fall open.

He stepped forward unsure of himself, only briefly looking at Clara clearly shamed from his previous outburst.

A small voice in Clara’s head nagged ‘ _rightly so_ ’ but she brushed it aside giving him the benefit of the doubt though she couldn’t think of a single reason why.

“I, uh, I came to apologise.” He shuffled awkwardly on his feet and finally lifted his face to meet Clara’s eyes, which had grown wider in surprise.

Suddenly she just couldn’t help it.

A snort of laughter burst from her nose as she doubled over laughing, clutching at her sides to prevent her organs from spilling out at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

“OI stop laughing! I was coming here to give a profound apology!” John pouted. He was only slightly moody, he actually quite enjoyed the way her nose scrunched up when she laughed.

“I’m, I’m sorry, I laugh at awkward moments” she managed to say between laughs “And I didn’t think _you_ , of all people could apologise,” another burst came out and she had to sit on the bed to steady herself.

John watched the girl giggling and decided it was one of his favourite sounds in the world- not that he’d ever tell her that- she just was so much nicer laughing.

Despite his previous strop he felt a smile tug on the corners of his lips and was soon laughing too, a low, throaty chuckle in contrast to the high pitched giggling coming from Clara.

He sobered up from his brief stint of laughter and made his way over to the bed flopping down to join her much to her shock and his amusement.

With a sigh he produced ‘Emma’ again and flipped to the page that usually struck a chord within his heart like a knife had been slammed into his chest. Clara immediately fell silent, a wave of hush crashing over the room. An understanding that could only be forged through grief.

“My mother,” he began, again no longer able to meet her eye,

“She used to read the classics like they were a lifeline, she used to say other than me, they were her everything and that they were the only thing that held her to this earth, otherwise she’d drift off into outer space to far away lands- she was rather dramatic,” he smiled fondly and Clara held her tongue about seeing where he gets it from knowing to pick her moments.

“Well, sadly, they didn’t do that much of a good job,” he gave a small laugh so clearly forced but she held silent waiting for him to continue.

“She read them to me once I was old enough to understand but by then I’d been exposed to them for so long they were second nature. An ancient language I seemed to know how to speak without ever learning a word if you know what I mean.”

He sucked in a sharp breath as she nodded her understanding and couldn’t help but wonder why he was telling this random girl his deepest pain, wondering even more so why he wanted to.

“She wrote notes…beautiful notes that had a deeper insight than I could ever think of- than most people could think of I always said though she disagreed… and she challenged me to read the book and truly understand what she was saying. Instead I did my own thing as per usual, I replied. In the only way I knew how: I joked and it spiralled from there.” He paused again briefly…why was this so difficult?

“In every book she read and I read soon after there was always us pouring our own thoughts onto the paper.” He looked at Clara like he was asking for permission to continue and she simply nodded with an encouraging smile. He nodded and turned his attention back to the book in his hands.

“My father thought we were crazy of course, absolutely never let us near the first editions but she didn’t care, she was different. It wasn’t the price of the book that was important to my mum- but the story it told. My father will never understand that.”

His mum had tried to impart that knowledge onto him from day one, it wasn’t the price but the _meaning_ of something. She didn’t quite understand his urge to travel, she’d always been a homebody but in comparison, his father didn’t understand anything.

John and his mother shared this, in a bubble all their own. Sometimes it felt like if he didn’t have the evidence of their love for each other ingrained by ink into the pages of these novels he’d go insane from grief.

Now it was his turn to hope those books could keep him grounded to Earth.

’Emma' was the last book she read, she’d read it a million times before but she loved it so much it was like first time every time at least thats what she told me. Apparently, it was really important that she wrote in this one, I didn’t understand until she was done. She always said ‘ _Wanderer if there is one thing I can give you in this world that’s truly from me, it’s words_ ’” He swallowed and bit back tears he knew were beginning to form. Something clicked in Clara’s mind at the name ‘wanderer’ and her heart bled for him.

“The rest of the book was never filled in, the car crash took away the ending. It took away her ending.”

“The last bit of advice she ever gave me was that,” he pointed to the line Clara had read to Sonic earlier and her eyes drifted over to his mother’s words of wisdom.

‘ _Wanderer, find someone who makes it impossible for you talk about how much you love them_ ’.

“I have never and most likely will never feel that. The closest I ever came, well, I told her I loved her everyday and thinking about it now I didn’t mean it. Not once.” He seemed to finish as he snapped the book shut harder than you would normally, shutting himself along with it.

Clara finally found the courage to speak, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Now she knows perfectly.

Her own mother was gone and the pain still burned like the day it happened and that was eight years ago. Clara remembers all too well the bitter sting of anger over the unfairness of it all, how fate just didn’t seem to care that Ellie Oswald had so much left to, how she was meant to have more time. Instead she was ripped away from the world, and Clara, far too early.

She suspected that aching anger resonated in him now the way it once did in her.

Eventually it morphed into something manageable, painful and sore, something that you wished you could forget but it wasn’t anger anymore. For that she was grateful.

His head snapped up and he looked at her. Properly looked at her and saw a grief festering beneath the surface much like his own. The inescapable feeling of loss that hung over you like a grey cloud, intent on poisoning everything around you.

That’s what gave him the idea, his mother had shaped him and guided him and her advice was what he always turned to.

_“Don’t be alone”_

_“We’re all stories in the end”_

“Here.” He pressed the book firmly into her hands before running one hand along the spine as if to say goodbye to an old friend.

“What are you doing?” She looked at him as if he’d gone mad.

Well maybe he had.

“I’ve read that book a thousand times, I’ve got her notes memorised. It isn’t going to bring her back but it might bring her to someone new and I think she’d like that.” He gave a half smile as he thought he might just like it too letting go of the book he had clung to for a year.

—————————————

Clara couldn’t quite bring herself to understand John Smith.

One moment he was the happiest man on the planet, making jokes was like a second nature and a cheesy grin was a permanent fixture.

Suddenly, the next minute he was seemingly broken into a million pieces, a hundred thousand shards of glass that no matter how hard you try could never be pieced together again.

It had been three days in this great house and she’d grown somewhat used to it- meaning she didn’t get as lost as she did before.

She travelled the corridors back and forth as much as she could without feeling like an intruder until she had them mostly memorised, a comforting pattern in the madness.

The days travelled like a flurry, never ending at the time but over in an instant. The difference was, snow fall would settle, but nothing about Clara seemed to want to settle here.

Nothing could quite compare to the first day. The volatile extremes she’d witnessed. Instead it mellowed out into a beige blur feeling like a singular day that lasted a lifetime.

Clara thought it was like time worked differently here, as if they had bottled it themselves and could control the speed it ran.

John mostly avoided her now whenever possible; a wounded animal who’d shown it’s wound but wanted no one to help heal it.

His father seemed to be pushing them together whenever possible, which, in all fairness, wasn’t often as John always had an excuse at the ready usually something to do with the company which a business man like Mr Smith could never argue with.

Clearly John had worked out how to manipulate his father a long time ago.

Though he couldn’t work around his father by making him like him, he had picked up exactly what worked and didn’t by the alternative routes.

Clara’s own father had called once but had seemed only interested in John, not how she was feeling in the place, not even whatever corporate espionage he had originally set her out to do, just John.

The questions were pretty ridiculous in how mundane they were, ranging from ‘do you have anything in common?’ to ‘what’s his favourite colour?’. At this point Clara didn’t know wether she should laugh or cry at the bizarre situation that everyone clearly understood but her.

Instead she carried on with a smile on her face. As usual.

Being so isolated often kept her thoughts in one direction as she hadn’t found much else to do and that direction happened to be him.

No not home or her father or even her best friend Nina, just him.

He was just so irregular.

She found herself wandering the corridors at every hour of the night with Sonic at her heels thinking about what goes on in that man’s head.

Clara put it down to curiosity of course- she’d always thrived with a puzzle- but that didn’t make it any less important of a task.

She had no end goal she was just purely fascinated with the way his mind worked. She wanted to know how he could change on a whim, she wanted to know why he didn’t believe love would ever find him and she wanted to know what went on underneath the mask he wore as securely she did hers.

It had only been a short amount of time but she had already established her routine (something she managed to do in every aspect of her life it seemed, perhaps it was the only thing that kept her sane?).

She joined the Smith’s for a stiff, formal breakfast every morning that was usually silent if a newspaper was being read, then toured the library soon after doing anything to stave off the boredom that was quite possibly her own fault.

Lunch was a similar affair to breakfast except light conversation was expected here- it didn’t take Clara long to pick up the rules, it took her even less time to pick up on John’s disdain for them.

Then she was back in her room until an even more formal dinner.

She felt like she was going a bit loopy on a schedule so rigid it blew her normal routine out of the water.

Eat, read, eat, read, eat, sleep, repeat. Again and again. She needed some sort of change; she wasn’t that bland.

So at night, that was when she got her change.

She took moonlit strolls through the corridors she was learning, completely at peace with the world in a bubble of her own.

When no one else is awake it’s like the pressure is gone, just you and your thoughts. The silence of night paired with the emptiness around her was like freedom, a breath of spring air after choking.

She’d always loved the night. The night was when the stars came out, shining like diamonds but she knew the closer you got the more you would see.

Rather than a precious gem there would be a fiery inferno, burning its light toward the Earth, completely alone in the sky, miles and miles separating it from any other star. Just it, massive and complicated and dying before it’s even lived and Clara thought it was amazing.

Her dad had called her a night owl when she was little, around the third time he caught her outside at two am waiting for a shooting star.

Some things you never grow out of.

The dog she’d grown so fond of in the few days she’d known him tagged along too, she assumed he enjoyed the company or maybe he was just like her, a creature of the night as it were.

At first she’d been shocked to see his wet nose and caramel eyes in the dark, the moonlight shining on him to alert her to his presence.

Clara naturally assumed he would have slept with John.

But he was there every night like he was specifically waiting for her.

She was so small and he was so large that they were the perfect height for each other. As they walked she would absentmindedly let her hands drift through is fur not even realising she was doing it. A small bond in comparison but just as natural as the stars above.

Sometimes she’d speak to him.

Sonic felt like her only real friend in this entire house, not the fake senior Smith or the distant junior Smith but the dog with eyes like his owner’s: endless and old.

She’d ask him questions, obviously not expecting an answer she wasn’t _that_ insane, but he’d look up to her like he was wishing he could answer her, as if it were caught in his throat if only he could communicate to her what he was thinking.

Either she wouldn’t admit it or simply hadn’t noticed it but the most common theme in her questions was John.

————————————————

The understanding had stretched between them: they each knew the other had some sort of pain that lingered and cut them in the tiniest, invisible ways and they each knew the best thing to do was to avoid each other to prevent any further pain.

Or at least that’s what Clara had thought.

John had other plans.

He was the first to break the silence when he burst into her room mid afternoon with an insane glint in his eye and a smile to match.

He was so focused on his ingenious plan he definitely didn’t notice the way the sun lightened her hair to look like honey when she read curled up in the window seat. Totally didn’t notice.

“What on Earth are you doing,” she attempted to sound angry but his smile made it impossible so she caved and grinned back.

Despite finding him the most infuriating, annoying, complicated human being on the planet she was starting to like talking to him.

If you’d asked her four days ago, she would have folded her arms and began a week-long tirade about each flaw that made up his personality and his spoiled ways.

As it happens, Clara had seen briefly under the mask. She had seen her own pain reflected back and she had been allowed to share in his in the most private way possible.

In a way he wasn’t so bad after all.

That didn’t mean she liked him though, not at all, as far as she was concerned he was still an utter madman who was too charming for his own good.

“I or should I say _we,_ ” he emphasised the last word, “Are going for a drive.”

She barked a laugh. “Uh I don’t think we are,” she returned to her book but he didn’t miss the way her eyes didn’t fully return to the pages.

“Oh come on. You’ve been stuck in this house for three days it must be driving you mad!”

“Is that what happened to you?” She teased. She couldn’t bring herself to remember why she shouldn’t tease and flirt with him.

“YES! Now I am being ever so kind to save you from the same dire fate.”

“Bit dramatic.” She said flipping the page

“Just a touch.” He admitted with a shrug that rolled off his back as he carried on not caring in the slightest.

He grabbed the book from her hand and tossed it onto the bed, silencing her with a finger on his lips before she could protest.

“It will be fun, I’ll pop some tunes on, we can sing like crazy people and go way over the speed limit but not care because we’re absolutely rich,” he pleaded with her like a kid asking for a puppy.

“That is a terrible outlook on life,” she remarked, now giving him her full attention but remaining the pretence of irritation.

“Fine it was a bad attempt at observational comedy.” He pouted before letting his bottom lip wobble, going full throttle committed to his bit. “Come onnnnnnnnnn,” he dragged the ’n’ like a child pleading for a toy in the shop and Clara did her best not to smile at his ability to be so young even when everyone else insisted he grew up.

“Fine.” Clara sighed instantly regretting her decision and purposely ignoring the twinge in her that wasn’t regretting it in the slightest, “But only because you’ve been cooped up for so long.” She said it mockingly without realising this was the actual case.

“And for that you are a saint,” he said with a bow, clasping her small hand in his large, dragging her out of the door.

It took her a moment to get her feet untangled from how she’d been curled up and if it hadn’t been for the tight grip John had on her hand she would have tripped.

 _You wouldn’t have tripped if he hadn’t been dragging you_ a stern voice echoed in her head attempting to keep some form of rationality.

She swiftly brushed it aside.

“God you’re as bad as Sonic when he needs a walk,” she laughed as the pair nearly crashed into one of the many china vases some would say decorated the hallway, others would say cluttering.

“No Miss Oswald I think you’ll find I’m worse.” He raised an eyebrow in a jovial manner that forced her to unsuccessfully cover her small smile.

“Oh and Sonic isn’t invited on this particular outing, not after what he did to the interior last time…” He seemed to shudder at the thought and Clara thought best not to ask.

“I mean it was scratched to bits!” He gave a pointed look to the dog curled up by the fire in one of the many living rooms they were passing through. Said dog barely even looked up, similarly to his owner, he did not care.

“Oh, he only scratched it?” Clara thought that should be a relief considering some of the evil things Linda’s chihuahua had done to her. She still religiously checks under her pillow to this day.

“ONLY?” John seemed genuinely insulted by this. “Bit of an understatement Clara.”

“I never thought you would put anything before Sonic but here we are, really attached to an appliance.” She rolled her eyes at his outrage, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“Pretty cool appliance!” He said in mock offence, though a part of him twinged in sympathy for his beautiful TARDIS being mocked this way.

“God I bet you’re the type to talk to it as well, I’d put my inheritance on you having a full on relationship with it.”

“I do not!”

Lie.

“Besides Miss Oswald,” he said that glint in his eye again as he fumbled with the keys to the garage. “Before you judge, remember:”

The door slowly lifted up inches at a time.

“You haven’t seen the car.”


	5. Orion is just so Cliché

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Clara spend a bit more time with each other- each agreeing the other isn't quite as bad as initially thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took forever to update. Not a good move on my behalf but oh well I'm sure not many of you missed it. Either way here you go, I hope it's good.
> 
> EDIT: Not much as changed about this one just needed a good deal of spacing

Clara was never one to be crazy over cars.

She viewed them as a means to an end, they simply do a job and that’s that.

Despite John’s clear attempt to impress her with his flash, navy sports car, her opinion didn’t change dramatically.

Sure it was flashy and preferable to most cars but there was no need to prance around it like an idiot (a concept John didn’t understand).

He had his arms splayed like a presenter on a game show revealing to (in this case) a not so eager contestant what was behind the sparkly curtain.

The car, which John had named ‘The TARDIS’ and Clara didn’t dare ask why, was curvy and sleek, modern and classic and all around gorgeous to any car enthusiast, it’s really a shame that Clara isn’t one.

“It’s nice.”

“Nice!?” John cried incredulously, his beaming grin falling from his face, “Bit more than nice I think you’ll find.”

“It’s an appliance. It does a job.” She tapped the hood lightly as if she were petting a dog but didn’t go anywhere nearer.

“Bit of a cool appliance, we aren’t talking cheese grater here!” She rolled her eyes at him and tried to hide the rising amusement as his eyes clouded over with love “She’s a beauty.”

“And I think we’ve reached peak weird.” Clara cut him off before he and his car could go any further.

“Fine, fine. Anyhow I promised you,” he bopped her nose, a gesture she definitely was not expecting, “a drive.” Sighing she opened the passenger door and popped a pair of sunglasses on he’d insisted she bring for “the road trip aesthetic”, flashed him an award winning smile and said:

“And a drive I shall receive.”

——————————

He was a madman.

Corners were a split second decision, speed limits were optional and all sounds from the surrounding area that might possibly alert him to another car were drowned out by an (admittedly good) playlist.

He was so relaxed, uncaring as he laid back like a dramatic cologne advert in black and white. He wore mirrored sunglasses and another band tee that Clara couldn’t place, though she found it rather ironic that his playlist was mainly songs from the 70’s,80’s and 90’s rather than all those bands he seemed to love.

“Interesting playlist!” She had to shout over the thumping bass. His hand immediately extended toward the dial to turn it down and narrowly avoided another hedge that had curved round with the corner.

“I’m a massive music fan, there’s a little bit of everything in there, kind of like a musical time machine,” he gave her a lopsided grin and she hoped to God there wasn’t a slight blush rising on her cheeks.

She wasn’t so sure what had shifted. The gradual change over the course of such a short period, but she would very much like to know to prevent any further blushing incidents.

Well she’s almost certain she’d like to know. _Sometimes it’s best to live in ignorance_ a voice, that was rapidly becoming common, hissed in her head.

“Even I have to admit it’s pretty good-” she was cut off by him avoiding a pheasant that had wandered into the road “clearly your playlist is much better than your driving!” She took this latest attempt at ending her short life early, as a sign to grip the handle above her for dear life.

“What’s life without a bit of fun and a bit of danger hey?” He wiggled his non-existent eyebrows at her and for some reason she felt comfortable enough to swat him across the arm.

“There’s a bit of danger and then there’s a death wish!”

“You need to learn how to have fun.” He said pointedly.

“I know how to have fun, I got in this deathtrap with you for a start.” He grinned at that and she bit back a smile.

“Fine I’ll give you that one- this is fun.”

“I didn’t say that this was fun-” she interjected but was silenced with his finger wagging at her and an “ah ah ah no buts, you said it.”

She folded her arms and glared at him which was only met with further laughing.

“Why don’t you let me pick a song then.”

“Go on then, but something from mine I don’t _entirely_ trust you yet,” he wasn’t entirely joking as she was completely restricted to his playlist, although it was hardly a small limitation- it might take her 12 years just to get through all of the songs.

“You have over 7000 songs on here!”

“Exactly, you’re spoiled for choice! Don’t make a bad one, first impressions and all Miss Oswald.” He swerved to the left to avoid a massive puddle leaving Clara using her spare hand to cling to the leather seat.

She had to admit, John Smith somehow made even the most mundane things like driving fun. Sat here with him she found herself enjoying herself more than she had in a long time.

It was just easy, he was so unlike the other people in society who all knew the rules as well as Clara; what to say and what not to say.

It’s like John took the manual of how to behave like the ‘upper class’ and threw it into a supernova. He made her feel like throwing in the towel and just running for the hills but in the short time she’d known him he had also made her feel alive in a way that scared her a lot less than it should.

She contemplated, for the briefest moment, what it would be like if she never left the Smith estate and just travelled down country roads with this crazy person- _no that idea is crazy_ she had to hiss to herself and almost physically shake it from her head. She knew far better than that. Four days was by no means long enough to plunge her into insanity… was it?

“Right I’ve got it. It would work better if we were in America or it was summer,” she pressed play and the minute she did he started laughing. Maybe she picked wrong?

“Oh yes, Miss Oswald, classic road trip song.” He started tapping his hands on the wheel and she was scared her choice would distract him from duties as designated driver even more than usual.

“Let me remind you, we are on a drive not a road trip, there’s no way on earth I could handle this way of driving for an extended period of time.” He rolled his eyes at her before belting out at the top of his lungs magnificently out of tune:

“SWEET HOME ALABAMA!” Miming along to the instruments of the song as he sang every lyric memorised, (the same with every previous song that had been on). However at this magnificent display Clara couldn’t help bursting into a fit of giggles. She grew redder with every new action he gave from the guitar to descriptive faces he pulled to the lyrics. The harder she laughed the bigger his actions grew in a vicious cycle.

John knew what he was doing.

He loved hearing her laugh, it was such a rarity around him after all, so he was going full throttle.

After the incident a few days ago, he’d mostly been avoiding her. He had never liked opening up to people, letting them see the pain underneath the smile. It was always easier to keep it to yourself, ‘ _why burden others?_ ’ Had almost become his life’s philosophy at this point. Though he had to admit he owed her an explanation for his outburst, meaning actually talking about it. He wasn’t ready to say wether it made him feel better or not yet.

He may not like the rules this stuck up society creates for itself but he’s not an animal. She deserved an apology of some kind. She deserved better than that. Even if she was irritated by him.

Sadly, John had a slight penchant for getting bored and soon found himself dragging the girl on an excursion. Just to take in the sites, that’s what he rationalised with himself.

It really is a beautiful area after all and adventure is always better with someone else to experience it with you; in the absence of Amy and Rory, she’d have to do.

He made a mental note to take her on his next walk with Sonic down to Foxberry Woods, frankly ignoring the part of him that recognised her as more than suitable substitute.

The song switched over to ‘She moves in her own way’ and John nearly had a heart attack when he heard Clara- Clara Oswald- singing along next to him. It was much more in tune than his usual performances and actually quite sweet to listen to. He was almost afraid to interrupt- _almost_. Soon he was singing along and the pair were giving what could pass for a choreographed routine.

They carried on like that for two hours, a mix of talking and singing from ‘hit me with your rhythm stick’ to ‘love is a battlefield’. At some point in the mix of stupid conversations about which is the best kind of bear- Clara will defend the polar bear until the end of time- and 80’s bops they stopped off in a little village close to the estate.

Clara had begged him to pull over so she could grab some snacks for their impromptu trip.

When she came back from the village shop with two bottles of diet coke and twenty different packets of sweets all crammed into a plastic bag, she watched on amused as John paraded his beloved car to an old couple. He worked as if he were a salesman desperate to make a sale, despite clearly never being willing to part with the car.

Clara couldn’t help but note the passion in his voice, _a rather attractive quality_ an apparently new but just as insufferable voice niggled at the back of her mind. _We are not going there_ she had to forcibly remind herself.

Soon enough she was dragging him by his shirt back to the drivers seat so they could get back to the house before dark.

Of course fate, who seemed to have a dedicated cause to ruin Clara’s life, intervened.

The engine sputtered and hacked like an old man coughing up a lung, the car drawing to a halt.

John cried out in agony, his head pressed into his hands at the fate of his baby.

“No dear God no!” The pain dripped from his words and Clara felt a twinge of sympathy for him until she realised her own predicament: stranded.

As Clara was weighing her options, forever the planner, John had sprinted round to the hood of the car and was desperately trying to find the problem however he couldn’t see through the massive cloud of smoke. (Clara was willing to bet _that_ was the problem however she didn’t dare suggest that to him).

“It’s going to take ages for the AA to get here,” Clara offered not knowing exactly how it would help.

“You.” He whirled round mock fury on his face “You did this,”

“Me?” She barked a laugh.

“You are a curse, you never liked the TARDIS- you, you- you have magic powers.” He declared pointing an accusatory finger at her.

“Yeah magic powers that leave me stuck out here too. A really well thought out plan on my behalf,”

His shoulders sagged before he chuckled and went back to the car.

Clara was sure he was about to sit and wait with the precious vehicle before his head popped back out, the bag full of sweets and their two coke bottles clutched in his hands.

“Well Miss Oswald, ready for the great hike back?”

“I dunno,” she said pretending to think about it, “I’m not sure I can handle your company without that playlist.” She took the coke bottle from his outstretched hand.

“Good thing I always come prepared.” He produced a fancy speaker that she was sure had all the bells and whistles just like the car (only she hoped this worked better) and began pairing the bluetooth to his phone.

She almost burst out laughing at the notion of _John Smith_ being prepared for anything. That man was like a blind hurricane, there was no plan only terrible- but fun- ideas. She, very kindly, didn’t point out the irony of this statement with their current predicament, letting him have that small victory.

With that they set off on their never-ending trek back to the house, eating skittles and singing along to ‘Paradise City’.

“So tell me Clara, as a perfectly prim socialite what do you do in your spare time,” John had come up with the idea of conversing as if they were at a benefit dinner so the pair had donned their perfect manners and were using _slightly_ exaggerated versions of their ‘event voices’.

“Well John, in my time between galas and balls I find myself baking soufflés,” at this bizarre comment John stopped in his track forgetting their stupid game, a Percy pig halfway to his lips.

“Soufflés?”

“Yeah, they were my mum’s recipe and I will nail it one of these days,” a steely, resoluteglint entered into her eyes and John had to stop himself from snorting at the furious determination bottled into this tiny form.

“Well you are welcome to use our kitchen anytime you’d like. You don’t have to confine yourself to your room.” He offered it to her with full sincerity that Clara couldn’t help but appreciate it as her face lit up like the sun slowly setting behind them.

She squealed and gave his arm a hug, distracting him long enough to snatch the bag of sweets from his grasp. The theft allowed her to mask the all too genuine gesture that she wasn’t quite sure was something friends (if that’s what they were now) did.

“Oi!”

“Not my fault,” she put her hands up in a mock surrender. “You were hogging the haribos.”

They continued to walk, the music playing to fill any gaps of silence that appeared, though considering it was John there was very few gaps.

The forest mapped out around them; branches curving towards the sky and in on each other in a confusing tangle of dark evergreen and natural brown, but the bumpy, country road they walked was clear to the sky above which seemed confused between lilac and orange.

The fields beyond were expansive and never ending and Clara wondered if she just gave in and became the feral creature her step mother believed her to be, how long could she survive running amok this stretch of land?

Clara’s feet were beginning to ache but she suppressed the feeling as she found herself not all too desperate to get back to the big, lonely house. Judging by the way her companion’s great, lengthy strides seemed to slow as the mansion could finally be seen in the distance, he felt the same way, most likely ten-fold.

“Why didn’t you call the house?” Clara blurted out of the blue, she wasn’t exactly sure what had triggered the realisation that John had in fact, had an escape route for them this entire time. “I mean you have your phone on you, which is linked to the speaker so it’s not due to lack of signal, you were able to call a car, it would’ve been here an hour ago.”

He stopped, staring at her intently as if he were searching for the best answer.

“Why didn’t you?”

Clara looked down at the phone clutched in her hand, completely forgotten, and wondered how on earth one afternoon with this man could completely destroy all logic your brain is able to formulate.

When she didn’t answer, he sucked in a breath and realised it was down to him.

“I like to put as much space between myself and my father as possible, the walk is a welcome distance, in more ways than one.” He had the weariness of a warrior who had seen one too many battles, an ending that was so desperately desired but unobtainable.

Clara glanced around their surroundings, spotting the exact thing she was looking for.

“Come on.” She gripped his hand in hers a sense of strength overcoming her- or he was just willingly being dragged but either way he followed. Clara brought him to a great oak tree a massive branch twisting and extending over the small river not much bigger than a brook.

She indicated for him to clamber up and was only mildly embarrassed at the fact that she couldn’t quite reach. That soon faded when she felt his hands on her waist, lifting her up towards their new seat. Clara was pointedly ignoring the warmth his hands emitted instead focusing on the snacks in front of her.

“Well you’re the space boy,” she nudged his shoulder playfully, hoping to distract him even if only for a little while. She wondered why she was so comfortable with this man that she had only just met when he swung like an erratic pendulum between hot and cold, leaving her constantly guessing where she stood, when after all she wasn’t all that sure she even liked him yet. “Know any good constellations?”

“Good constellations?” He cocked an eyebrow mocking her as per usual “Please tell me what qualifies a constellation as good? Is Orion meh but the Cygnus, now that gets your heart racing.” She swatted him before joining in.

“Of course, Orion is just so cliche I’m only here for the rarest of the rare, the kind that only money can buy.”

The stars were only just beginning to come out, the twilight sky a mix of amber and midnight blue as the sun and moon fought for control, the sun in an inevitable losing battle.

He did his best without a telescope and without a clear, starry night. Clara mentally gave him credit for trying because despite insisting she could see what he was pointing out to her she hadn’t the foggiest what he was talking about. She did however enjoy listening to his explanations.

They’d moved onto the chocolate portion of their bag, malteasers being passed back and forth, with Clara suspecting a few more were going to John rather than to her.

Her feet dangled over the small river below and she found herself swinging them back and forth like a child.

She wasn’t sure what it was, but something about John was like reverting back to a childlike innocence, something Clara hadn’t been able to grasp in a long, long time. It was as if her mother’s death stripped her of her youth and forced her into a position of maturity she still hadn’t grown into.

He seemed to mimic her movements, well more accurately, she mimicked his, as his legs swung out further than hers could ever hope to reach. This whole place, the strange, unofficial clubhouse of a tree and the noise of the rushing water below was like a spell cast over her, a sense of calm in a world that usually screamed.

“We’re going to have to go back.” John said, eventually admitting the obvious that for some reason Clara wasn’t too keen on, a strange part of her would have stayed by that tree for years.

“Yeah,” she finally agreed with a sigh, shuffling towards the edge of the tree so she could get off as gracefully as it would allow. She wasn’t anticipating John lifting her down by her waist again, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t find herself complaining.

They walked in mostly silence, the speaker having died a while ago. It was a comfortable silence though that both parties seemed to respect and didn’t wish to break.

When they finally reached the top of the hill, Clara was embarrassed to say took the wind out of her a little, they were immediately greeted with an onslaught of staff faffing and worrying about where they’ve been. John shared a guilty smirk with her before allowing himself to be ushered inside and pushed toward a shower.

—————————

Clara found herself being forced into the same direction, almost as if she were incapable of caring for herself.

One day she is going to snap.

Snap at every friend of her father’s that look at her like she’s a precious, little idiot almost as if they were waiting to pat her on the head with a condescending ‘good girl, keep trying’.

At every maid who apparently thinks she can’t hold her own toothbrush.

At every moron in her world that really couldn’t hold their own toothbrush.

Clara was going to just snap.

Not today though. Today she was exhausted and weirdly grungy in a way her own staff and her stepmother would never allow and all she really wanted was a shower.

Her hands fumbled with the knobs in the marble bathroom, desperate to feel the rush of heat after her brisk, January walk. When the stream hit her skin, the ache that had developed in her body washed away with the dirt she had had no idea was even there, leaving her empty except for her increasingly louder thoughts.

She found herself returning to John in her mind no matter how many times she told herself to think about something else: home, a book, wether she could have a music playlist that good. Yet every single thing linked back to him. Not in a dirty way- she wasn’t insanely stood in the shower fantasising over a man she barley liked.

Instead it was like a puzzle, that was in black and white with no edge pieces. Her brain was constantly whirring trying to piece it together and it this point she found it easier to submit.

She roughly dried her hair with the Egyptian cotton towel and wrapped herself in the fluffy dressing gown laid out on her bed (whilst she complains about the maids she has to admit, there are _some_ benefits).

Clara padded around her room, the room she had vaguely become comfortable in (though she’d never admit it) and began searching for her next book to devour.

She’d always said if it wasn’t for the life that she had to lead, the path already planned, she would have been an English teacher.

Clara liked to think she’d make an excellent English teacher, she had the passion for the words she read, the thirst for knowledge that she’d happily share with the kids, _yes_ she thought _I’d definitely make a good English teacher_.

Sadly, that wasn’t going to happen though, she’d become the face of her father’s company with absolutely no say in how it was run. That was how it was going to be wether she liked it or not.

After realising that she had finished the books she’d brought with her (only two, Linda hadn’t allowed her much, more room was required for hats that she hadn’t worn once,) she decided to take a quick stroll down to the library to see what she could find when there was a sharp knock at the door.

“Come in!”

A girl around the same age as her with dark hair and large eyes that popped her head around the door.

“Sorry to interrupt miss but you’ve been requested to join Mr Smith for dinner,” Clara was so focused on the welsh accent that was so out of place that she nearly missed the message that was being relayed to her.

“Sorry, uh Mr Smith wants me to join him for dinner?” She felt her heart hammer for a reason she couldn’t pin point- nerves possibly? Couldn’t be anything else.

The girl laughed a little and replied with a “yes”.

“Which Mr Smith?” Clara asked hoping she could hide the lilt in her voice that suggested a preference.

“Senior Miss. We’ve been told to call Smith junior John- he’s not big on formal titles.” Somehow that made complete sense to Clara like she couldn’t expect anything else of John, he really had no regard for the lifestyle he was supposed to lead and if anything it was a redeeming quality in him. “I’ve been told you are to dress formally but not exceedingly so…i’m guessing you’ll understand what that means?”

“Not a clue,” Clara laughed, maybe she should have actually listened to her stylist “What’s your name again?”

“Gwyneth,” the girl smiled like she wasn’t allowed to say that. On further consideration, knowing Smith senior, she probably wasn’t.

“Well Gwyneth, would you mind giving me a helping hand?”.

———————————

John hated when his father got the abstract notion that family dinners were formal affairs; every now and then when he was in the mood for ‘good will’ he would invite John along for a dinner in which they actually spoke to each other and actually listened and of course wore another starched suit for no good reason.

Tonight, he assumed, they would be joined by Clara which meant his father’s good manners would be on their best display.

John’s would have to be too.

He checked his reflection in the mirror, trying to add any more volume into his hair (which is pretty impossible) and straightened the scarlet bowtie around his neck: he was presentable and that’s all that mattered tonight.

The dinner was of course served in the main dining room, which was only usually used for special occasions.

When the Smith’s actually spoke to each other, well, it could be classed as a special occasion.

John knew better than to turn up fashionably late, when it came to his father late was late, no matter what high society magazines tried to market to their avid socialite readers.

Instead he found himself, five minutes early, pacing outside of the dining room doors, enough to wear a hole into the carpet, desperate to get this night over and done with.

When he finally achieved the small ounce of courage to open the door he was greeted with the sight of his father and Clara already sat and waiting.

“Ah John, nice of you to _finally_ join us,” his father said, the undertones of his voicing portraying his thoughts loud and clear, “Late as usual.”

No matter what he did, in the eyes of that man, he’d always be a failure. It was about time he came to accept that.

His mother had never thought so low of him. She’d been his only advocate before. When he’d failed RE for ‘being too scientific’ his mother had defended the blight on his record, when he’d almost gotten suspended for a _harmless_ prank involving four things, well four things and a lizard, his mother had been the voice of reason.

With her gone there was no buffer, only the endless shame of a man constantly wishing for a better son and a son wishing for the understanding and possibly if he could accept it _love_ of his father.

The dining room was stiff. Much like the rest of the house but on a considerably larger scale.

No amount of vases with bouquets of perfectly arranged flowers or log burning fires could change that.

The whole place had the sense of an icy claw wrapped around it; the conversation of tonight certainly wasn’t helping.

“Are you enjoying the soup Clara? It’s our chef’s specialty,” God his father’s normal person act was sickening. It’s like taking a small dash of ‘shark’, a pinch of ‘disapproval’ and finally a truck load of ‘privilege’: the recipe to Smith Sr, patten pending.

“Yes very much sir, it’s wonderful.” Short and to the point. John respected that. Though if it had been him, he would have over exaggerated, it usually gets the person asking the question to go away.

“Anything interesting to add John?” Damn. Just once he’d quite like to fly under the radar.

“No sir, nothing at all.” Most children grow up calling their life bringers, daddy or dad. John was lectured beyond the age of seven the benefits of calling him father or sir, ‘ _it’s more respectful and that’s what you owe me: respect_ ’.

John wasn’t quite sure he agreed but he didn’t care enough to argue.

“Well if you have nothing of importance to add to the conversation, please do us all a favour and wipe that smirk from your mouth, there are no pathetic, young girls for you to flirt with here, just myself and poor Clara.” Bastard.

He didn’t miss the wince that crossed Clara’s face for a fleeting second and he also didn’t miss the fact that she had most likely never known this contempt from a parent.

His father’s favourite past time would forever be finding a way to embarrass and shame his son. If it hadn’t been for the whole him being the sole heir thing, John swears Smith Sr would have cut him off and sold the story to the tabloids.

In all honesty, John would have preferred it.

He would have become a traveller, seeing far off lands and doing the things others dare not.

He’s done a good deal of travelling but he always thought it would be nice to make it your profession.

Well any job is better than professional disappointment.

“Actually, the reason I called you here wasn’t to discuss the soup,” he gave a strange belly laugh at what John wasn’t all that certain was a joke.

“I’d quite like to discuss my birthday plans- it’s my 60th and well, sue me, I want it to be special. Anyone who is anyone important will be there and John I need you to at least attempt to play the role of dutiful son.”

His father gave him a pointed look, layered with years of resentment for what could have been.

“It’s a masquerade ball, I’ve arranged fittings for both of you.”

Clara’s head snapped up from where she had been studying her plate intently as if it were the most difficult puzzle in the world, eager to escape the frosty awkwardness.

“Yes- you too Miss Oswald. We will be showing a united front and as a current permanent fixture that includes you.” Clara nodded stiffly clearly understanding the inability to argue and John felt a wave of sympathy; she may not be his favourite person but no one deserved to be ordered around by his father even when the orders led to a party (nothing is that simple when it comes to Smith Sr).

“However, your parents cannot attend urgent business in Argentina sadly, no matter, no matter, you are their representative and I know _you_ can present yourself graciously.” Aimed and fired with perfect accuracy at John.

He sliced through the steak that had been placed in front of him and chewed glumly as the rest of the dinner passed in a haze of politics and society’s gossip, neither of which John ever cared to partake in.

He caught himself on more than one occasion casting a glance at the woman sat opposite him. Her hair was lightly curled like the first time they met rather than the sleek straight she tended to have and a satin, emerald green dress clung to her in a way that shouldn’t be so distracting.

It was like walking a tight rope, wanting desperately to flirt like his usual self does so effortlessly or completely ignoring her simply for being her.

He couldn’t quite understand why he was so conflicted, it was like being a child again. A stupid little boy on the playground trying to decide wether he pulled the pretty, girl’s pigtails- No. This was nothing like that. Nothing at all.

After that harrowing and completely incorrect thought, he brought his attention the paintings on the walls he’d never cared about before because nothing had ever given him reason to. He tried memorising every brush stroke and hue because anything was better than following up on _that_ thought.

———————————

He nearly missed it when his father gave the words, the absolute god send, that they were dismissed.

Or as John thought of it- free.

His father, never a one for sentiment left rather hurriedly with a barley audible goodnight (even his best manners/show for Miss Clara couldn’t extend to the evenings when the American stock market was up).

Though somehow the old bastard still had time to call “John, make sure you escort Miss Oswald to her room.”

He didn’t really see the need. If she was staying for one night then of course, it’s only courteous but Clara had been here for four days now and he hadn’t walked her back a single time nor would he be for the rest of the month.

In conclusion, he now had more evidence to support his claim to Amy and Rory that his father hated him.

John extended an arm wrapped in Italian silk and found himself suppressing a gulp at the length and fit of this bloody green dress. Honestly, it was more trouble than it was worth.

 _Not true._ Something in him taunted and if he could he would have slapped it away.

Charm or pigtails? He weighed the options.

Giving her the once over yet again he made his mind up.

Charm.

“You look wonderful this evening.” He flashed her and award winning smile as she took his arm, searching for any change in colour on her cheeks. None.

He quite liked it when he made her blush, it was almost like a point to score.

“I could say the same to you,” She smiled without teeth, that close lipped Clara smile that screamed ‘ _I know more than I’m saying but you never will_ ’

They strolled the corridors amicably, hardly in a rush to get to her room though neither admitted it and John nearly forgot they were meant to be speaking until he felt Sonic’s wet nose press up against his other hand as his soft paws silently synched up with them.

“How have you been finding it?” He blurted out, shocked at the cold on his hand, smashing the silence they had established.

“Finding what?”

“Here. This house. Staying here, in this house…” Not as cool as initially planned.

“It’s fine. A little lonely, a little quiet- not that I mind,” she was babbling like him, it was almost cute- almost “I’m on my own a lot, it’s just a bit more noticeable when you aren’t in your own room.”

“Is there anything I can do?” It was a genuine question.

“No, no it’s fine.” Her inability to allow herself to overstep reared its ugly head yet again.

“But you’re my guest. I want you to feel comfortable. The offer to use the kitchen is still there.” He was the one blushing now and he didn’t know why.

All he knew was it had to stop.

“Come on John we both know whose guest I am.” She looked up at him with those big brown eyes that can sear right into your soul and all he could do was sigh, conceding.

“Well this is your door then,” He scratched the back of his head, discomfort increasing with every passing second.

“Good night John.” She gave him a weak half-hearted smile before bending down to scratch Sonic’s head “And goodnight to the best boy in the whole wide world.”

“Oh don’t do that,” anguish coated his voice.

“What?” Her voice high pitched and incredulous.

“Babying him, he doesn’t like it, he’s far too intelligent.” John sniffed the air in indignation. Clara didn’t have to know the extent to which John himself babied Sonic.

“Oh please, Would you prefer if it was you being babied?” Without warning she reached a hand up to the mass of hair on his head and ruffled it “Oh well here’s the best boy right here,” He swatted her hand away playfully, a low chuckle escaping his lips. I guess maybe there was some time for pigtails tonight.

He pinched her cheek and half pushed her into her bedroom “Me and _my_ best boy will be returning to our room presently, to escape the mocking gaze of such a ‘foul’ creature,” She barked a laugh at his barely, functioning retort and was prepared to shut the door when she heard him call:

“Oh and Clara… go to sleep tonight, I quite miss having sonic in my room.”

He knew. But how?

She’d thought her midnight walks had been discreet.

Apparently John noticed more than he let on.

Her mind whirred as a thousand different thoughts combatted inside her head.

The possibility of him having a part to play in Sonic’s almost guaranteed appearance was not one of those thoughts.

Really it should have been.

The monotonous routine of getting ready for bed happened in a blur unnoticed by Clara who was wondering what else could John Smith know?

What else did he care to see and take an interest in?

The idea of sleep seemed impossible, a far off dream that she’d never be able to have.

Literally.

That was until her head hit the pillow. That was until her dreams fused from the possibility of a blissful sleep to a man with floppy hair, a striking ability to make her want to laugh and scream with fury all at once and ancient, green eyes that held something strong and strange beyond their years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to be featuring Smith Sr's birthday party and the return of some faces we all know and love.  
> I hope you enjoyed this one and if you did please leave a comment or kudos!


	6. We're Doing Bohemian Rhapsody Babe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Clara celebrate Mr Smith's 60th birthday at a masquerade party and we see some old faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been working on trying to get these chapters longer with more content and with getting put in quarantine there's no better time to practise. I hope you like it and it's not too wordy or boring!
> 
> EDIT: That's another one fixed with some actual spacing, honestly I was struggling to read it and I wrote it, you guys are saints

The days leading up to the party were the usual blur of colour and noise, not the interesting kind like a festival or a carnival where you’re swept up amongst the crowds, smells and sheer volume of sounds but the irritating kind that enjoys suffocating you: at least that’s how John thought of it.

The party planner- _used for all events, occasions and any good party_ , as she marketed herself- Yvonne was back in action. Her blowout hair commanding the room more than her 21st century attitude to employment.

She berated her staff members daily for the wrong shade of this and incorrect timings with her thousandth coffee (‘ _It’s a strict dietary schedule, darling_ ’ she’d tell John) but at least she’d have the common decency to use their name whilst she brought them to breaking point- or at least tears.

He’d pretty much grown up with Yvonne’s whirlwind nature and intensity, yet that didn’t make her planning process any easier to endure, especially with his father’s grunted, non-committal answers to all of her questions that sent her even further into a tail spin.

John had to admit the small part of him that wasn’t annoyed by the display was _slightly_ amused by the way her hair would become frazzled by his father’s inability to pick a colour scheme.

He’d been forced to attend at least twenty fittings for the ridiculous masquerade costume they had designed for him.

For one night and one night only he would be a badger. God was the outfit ridiculous.

He thought his suit resembled a penguin a little bit more than a badger but the mask, oh the mask, was a dead give away. He couldn’t even use the excuse of doing this out of love because anyone who knew him would see right through that.

Nope, he was the moron who was about to be a badger for the night. 

Other than being dragged out of his room for the umpteenth fitting, he resided in his room, barley relenting to take Sonic out because he just couldn’t stand the drama going on downstairs.

If he had it his way, for all birthdays, he would be in a foreign country with their local beer listening to whatever music took his fancy at the time, his two best friends stood laughing with him and something pretty on his arm- he was definitely ignoring the little voice that said _Clara_ when he thought about that.

He enjoyed a good party, he really did and it had been so long since he’d been to one due to the insufferable gnawing of grief weighing him down like an anchor wound around his ankles, dragging him further and further down.

However, this wasn’t the kind of party his restless soul had been missing- no. This was his father’s party in which, for at least a little bit, he had to have some semblance of grace and decorum.

The one bonus of this whole parade was that Amy and Rory were flying in for it, as lifelong friends of the family they were duty bound to. Silver linings and all that.

Plenty of his other friends would be making the trip, but that of course means plenty other people he didn’t like would also be joining him for the night. Along with their irritating selves they would be bringing their intrusive questions and expectations he’d rather not adhere to.

As soon as possible him and the Ponds would be sneaking off to form their own mini party.

The days went surprisingly quick, a slur of being pricked by clothes pins and drowning out the sounds of an ice sculpture being dragged through the foyer with his amazing playlist.

He’d have ‘too shy’ in his head for the next four weeks.

He had barely seen Clara the whole time and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little disappointed. However that won’t stop him saying that he wasn’t. Not one bit.

She’d been here a whole week now and he hoped she’d settled in at least a little.

On a nighttime run for fish fingers and custard (a snack that had resulted in him being viciously teased for years especially by one Amy Pond) he had seen the burnt remains of a chocolate soufflé and had to stifle a giggle at her failed attempt. He also suppressed a grin that she had taken him up on his offer even if it didn’t turn out just right.

——————————

By the time doomsday finally arrived, he was stood in front of the mirror inspecting the suit that, thankfully, allowed him to wear his signature bowtie and was almost distraught at the idea of covering his face with that bloody badger mask.

Now he loved badgers, the animal itself wasn’t the issue however it didn’t mean he’d like to spend the night as one. It was white and elongated to represent the badger’s snout and of course we can’t forget the two black stripes to really ram home the key theme of _badger_. One of these days, he’d kill his father. With no remorse.

He could hear the sound of distant voices drifting up the grand staircase and knew he’d have to grin and bear it. Descending the stairs he saw Yvonne had really outdone herself this time. The whole room was decked out like a Parisian palace, white cloth wrapped around the banister, the whole place echoing Versailles with crystal chandeliers lit up like supernovas and an influx of people in more and more elaborate costumes with each new guest.

Somehow they had managed to transform a traditionally English country house into something decidedly more French.

There was a stage currently occupied by an orchestra playing Beethovens fifth symphony but John knew by 9:00 tonight that would morph into terrible karaoke. For such a stoic man, his father could really belt out a tune after too much whiskey.

A full banquet stretched across the back of the ball room with every type of pastry and cake and champagne, though at this particular party the focus would definitely remain on the champagne.

 _Eating’s cheating_ John thought to himself with a smirk.

Yvonne had rigged up an entire chess board in the middle of the ballroom and he’d heard rumours of a performance art piece demonstrating the art of chess mirroring our own lives- that should be entirely too painful. He could only hope the crowd (and himself) would be well and truly hammered by then. 

He was effectively forced to his father’s side to greet the tidal wave of guests, each dressed as ridiculously as him, in some sort of animal garb.

When a trio of his long-since passed grandmother’s friends arrived as a lion, a tiger and a bear respectively, he desperately fought the urge to say ‘Oh my’, but good lord he didn’t want to speak to those three.

To put it as nicely as possible they should have come dressed as cougars, it would have saved a lot of young men from finding a wandering, wrinkly hand.

One of the delightful women lingered at John’s handshake and requested (in what he assumed was meant to be a sultry voice) that he come find her later.

This then triggered a massive guffawing laugh from his father that honestly scared John more than the prospect of a night with Minnie. John blushed and covered his own laugh whilst simultaneously wrangling his hand from Minnie’s surprising, iron grip.

He was just about ready to resign himself to another half hour of greeting dull people that he couldn’t bear to be around, when a loud, brash, Scottish accent reverberated through mini Versailles: “DOCTOR!”

Amy.

She dragged the ‘r’ waving her arms in the air before clasping them around John’s neck in a hug no man could ever attempt to escape from.

Luckily, John didn’t want to. He hugged her back spinning her round, howling with laughter at her mere presence. He was lost in his own little bubble that his father just had to pop.

“Amelia. Always lovely to see you.” He said it so stiffly like he hadn’t know her for her entire life. John supposed he hadn’t in a way, he never cared enough to know any of his friends even such ‘pure bred’s’ like Amy and Rory.

“As _boisterous_ as usual.” He gave her the same contempt he gave John- they were like siblings anyway.

His father gave Rory a stiff handshake barely acknowledging his presence.

John had heard for weeks about the ‘ _wasted potential_ ’ of Rory who became a nurse rather than some sort of CEO, well John couldn’t be prouder of his best friend, there was not an ounce of his potential wasted especially when he was doing more good in the world than his father could ever do.

He switched his hug over to Rory, smacking him on the back before stepping back to take them in.

The big ginge, distinctly proud of her colouring, had come as a fox.

She wore a tight, mini dress that was fiery orange and partly white with a fantastically, bushy tail attached to the back. The mask, that he assumed completed the look, had long since been discarded and was being held by Rory who had come as a hawk for some bizarre reason. His suit was adorned with feathers, as was his mask which sported a rather fetching beak.

To see them both stood in front of him like the old days nearly reduced him to tears but he opted instead for a beaming grin. His father gave a brief nod that released John from his duties and John wasted no time wrapping his arms around his two friends and guiding them to the fully stocked bar.

——————————

It was like they had never left.

The trio picked up from exactly where they left off, joking and teasing each other with no remorse, which is a fairly impressive feat considering the copious amounts of alcohol they were planning on consuming hadn’t hit their systems yet.

Amy was loudly regaling the tail of John, a village in Bangladesh and a miscommunication that led to an engagement he’s not quite sure if he’s broken off yet.

She’d gathered quite the crowd of stiff-upper lips clutching champagne flutes and what he assumed were the eligible bachelors of society intent on meeting this entertaining young woman.

It seemed Rory had noticed too as he inched closer, a hand instinctively wrapping around her waist. John hid the small smile that came over him at his two best friends as in love as ever, it’s a rare sight in the world he lives in.

As the crowd Amy had created burst into a fit of mild-mannered laughter, John noticed their attention wavering as they seemed to be drifting back over the stairs and found himself following in their footsteps.

It didn’t take him long to see what caught their attention. Stood at the top of the stairs, the chandeliers illuminating her masked face was Clara. Or more specifically Clara dressed a beautiful, blue peacock.

The dress was a deep, blue almost mimicking the TARDIS parked outside, cutting off at a length that should really be illegal; behind her a fan of feathers that looked like they had been plucked from a real life peacock- considering this was Yvonne’s design he wouldn’t rule that possibility out- with a matching peacock tail trailing across the floor. Her heels clacked on the stairs as she descended to an admiring crowd, white teeth against a scarlet lip: clearly used to the admiring gazes.

John assumed his jaw must have dropped at some point; he wouldn’t have noticed but Amy’s hand was under his chin pushing it closed with a smirk.

“I’m guessing that’s your lodger then.”

“You would be correct,” he breathed before breaking his gaze from Clara “As per usual Pond.”

“Yeah, don’t blame you mate.” Rory was next to him placing a hand on his shoulder, looking just as stunned, earning him a swat across the arm from Amy launching Rory into a defence position.

“Blame me? Blame me for what?” He was a little afraid of the answer.

Amy and Rory turned in unison, probably something that developed over time in a marriage, giving him a look of what John can only describe as ‘you idiot’.

He seemed to get that look a lot from the Ponds.

He gave an uncomfortable cough and sniffed to highlight his disdain before straightening his bow tie preparing to speak to Clara who had reached the bottom of the stairs and was currently being swarmed by his father’s friends all interested in why this beautiful girl was staying in the Smith house.

Gossip was always this crowds favourite topic.

His nerve was finally building until he heard some key phrases from the assembled socialites: ‘ _engagement_ ’, ‘ _marriage_ ’ ‘ _Smith_ ’.

Not an ideal time to make his appearance.

It didn’t matter though. The ultimate ginge had her goal in mind and had already parted the crowd like the red sea with a loud declaration of “coming through!”, grasping Clara’s hand in hers and pulling her towards the awe-struck John Smith.

“Thank you, I’m not really a fan of a hundred questions a minute,” Clara gave Amy a sheepish smile then glanced at John out of the corner of her eye, just for a moment.

“Well, Clara, I wouldn’t come dressed like _that_ if I didn’t want to be the centre of attention.” Amy gave her a wink- she had no issue being the centre of attention- Clara responded with a giggle until “Wait I didn’t tell you my name-”.

Seeing where that sentence was going John cut her off with a loud cough so she couldn’t question any further. She simply raised her eyebrow at him in that infuriating know-it all way.

“This is Amy,” he gestured towards her as she gave a three fingered wave, her other hand occupied with a whiskey concoction of some description “and this is Rory,”

“Hello,” Rory shook her hand a little dumbly earning him a raised eyebrow from both women.

“Wow the nose and the chin quite the pair you two make,” Amy snorted into her glass and linked her arm through Clara’s guiding her toward the bar clearly accepting this new friend with ease, leaving a stunned John and Rory in their colourful wake.

“I didn’t think my nose was that big,” said John rubbing it in dismay.

“No, No,” Rory said plainly a hint of incredulity in his voice “You’re the chin! How can you not know you’re the chin?”

“Don’t be ridiculous Rory.” With another adjustment to his bow tie he sauntered off to greet the girls at the bar.

——————————————

Amy and Clara were deep in conversation and Clara was rather glad of the new company. The woman in front of her was all legs and noise and it was refreshing, she reminded her almost of John; she presumed that was due to their influence on each other over the years.

“So how long have you known John then?” Clara asked hoping it came across as nonchalantly as planned.

“Oh we grew up together, went to boarding school together, then uni, the whole shebang, The Doctor, Amy and Rory that’s the way it’s always been,” She sipped her drink and seemed to be sizing Clara up, not in a threatening way but a curious way like she was trying to understand her.

“The Doctor? Curious nickname.”

“I can’t really remember where it came from now, we were pretty drunk, in the backfields behind the school- it’s all a bit of a blur. I think Rory may have cut himself on a bottle and he patched him up…or maybe I cut myself…either way it definitely stuck.” Clara liked her Scottish accent it was fun and a lot more interesting than the usual posh accents these people had.

She felt a hand on her lower back and all her hair stood on end, it was John merely attempting to move past her for another scotch at the bar. An action so small that he didn’t even think about it whilst she was completely set on edge. What on earth was wrong with her?

“Find something interesting to talk about or are you just grilling her Amelia?” He gave that stupid lopsided grin he clearly thought made girls heart flutter.

“Yes, you actually,”

“Definitely interesting then,” there wasn’t even a beat, they were so comfortable with each other, Clara ignored the feeling of wanting that.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” A voice came from behind them, new to the conversation and decidedly more sexual in tone.

“River!” John near as damn choked on his scotch, before quickly correcting himself “Professor Song, good to see you again.” John ran a hand though his hair roughly a steady blush rising up his neck to his cheeks that only deepened when River said:

“Hello Sweetie.”

She brushed past Clara, in a tight floor length gown that was intended to be a lion, swishing her hips to flick the tail that swung from behind. Everyone caught the gulp that came from John’s throat.

Clara thought the mane of hair on her head perfectly offset the idea of her being a lioness but the more she thought about it she didn’t think that was the reason she chose to come as the lion.

“Vodka martini- very dry.” She crooned at the bar tender. Once she received her drink she turned back to the small group in front of her, taking a small sip allowing her eyes to pass along them one by one lingering slightly longer on John before turning and leaving as fast as she came.

John seemed to give an audible sigh of relief when she strutted away but his shoulders only tensed when Amy began impersonating her.

“Vodka Dry,” She said in an over done voice with a hand on her hip and another rubbing along John’s arm, Rory gave a concealed smirk used to his wife’s antics while Clara let her amusement be known and quickly joined in with her own “Hello sweetie”

John gave a huff downing the rest of his drink in one gulp. This was going to be a long night.

—————————————

They all got progressively drunker.

As predicted the orchestra was disbanded and replaced with karaoke, the current performance being given by one of his father’s colleagues, a Russian professor who worked on the initial space ventures.

He was giving a rather impressive rendition of ‘Vienna’ by Ultravox.

Clara and Amy were alternating between sampling every cocktail on the menu and doing shots of tequila while Rory and John had moved onto the beer portion of the night. The usually stuck up business men and women were out on the dance floor giving it their all in their drunken stupor and John could see his father across the room picking out his karaoke ballad.

Clara seemed to be fitting in nicely with Amy and Rory. She kept up with their humour and laughed at the outrageous stories of John going skydiving in nothing but his socks with a bottle of vodka strapped to his hand and the time he got his revenge by sticking their geography teacher’s desk to the ceiling after getting a wrongful detention.

It was a nice sight, the three of them in front of him, it seemed to fit like a puzzle that’s been bugging you for a while. They were laughing like old friends until _she_ sidled up to the bar, a thin man with spiky hair hanging on her arm. John felt his throat go dry.

“John.” She gave a sharp nod.

“Rose.” Awkward levels steadily rising.

He’d thought he loved her when he was in uni but they wanted different things.

She was heiress to the Vitex fortune and planned on fulfilling her duty, he was the heir to Gallifrey industries and would rather run for the hills.

She’d since married another man known as ‘ten’ for some reason: John didn’t really care enough to ask.

He’d often thought about reaching out and creating some kind of friendship because he really did miss her in a platonic way, but fear of rejection even in the purest of endeavours made him think twice.

Instead it was like a ghost haunting him until he did something about it.

Since all of these events were like incestuous circles with all of the same people he knew he was guaranteed to run into her at some point, he just didn’t realise it would be so sobering.

His fist clenched and unclenched needing something- anything- to do, what he didn’t expect was to feel a small, soft hand fit into his and squeeze reassuringly.

He turned to see Clara smiling up at him gently and knowingly as always.

She’d only known him for a short time so how did she always know what he needed?

He squeezed her hand back, gratefully and was rather impressed to see the small scowl that formed on Rose’s face at what she assumed was his upgrade- no.

In no way his Clara his or an upgrade, shut up-

The man weirdly named Ten gave him a smile, looping his arm around his wife’s waist and guiding her back to the dance floor. Watching them sway, John knew there was no way he and Rose were ever meant to be together, she and Ten were made for each other.

“Ex-girlfriend?” Clara cocked an eyebrow, already knowing the answer from the way he paled but wanting confirmation. She remembered a few of the news articles at the time about John and Rose Tyler but she wasn’t quite sure if the woman dancing on the floor now was her.

“Yeah, yeah,” He was a bit dazed still clutching the glass bottle in his hand, knuckles getting whiter with every passing second.

“Ah the great Rose Tyler,” Amy mock swooned, a dramatic hand casting across her forehead, “I remember those days well, a haze of pining, restaurant reservations and sexual tension,”

“Always the drama queen Pond,” John said with a clear of his throat slowly becoming more comfortable after his run in with, what he considered to be, the grim reaper.

“It’s not my fault you were entirely whipped with no relief,” John erupted into a massive guffaw in hopes of silencing Amy however when her ‘wisdom’ had been mixed with copious amounts of alcohol there was no stopping her.

“You see Clara, that girl had him wrapped around her little finger ‘ _get me this, get me that, take me here_ ’.” she did a fairly good impression all things considered.

“But they just weren’t _right_ you know? I mean I haven’t seen him get so worked up about a girl he’d like to keep since… well since yo-” she began her drunk pondering before John finally managed to cut her off, he really didn’t need to know where that sentence was headed.

“-That’s enough of the trip down memory lane Pond don’t you think?”

Instead of looking to see the face Clara had formed at his plight he downed the contents of his bottle in one fell swoop, slamming it onto the bar before turning and walking away, barely mumbling an excuse about karaoke.

Clara remained pensive, slowly mulling over what she’d learnt, something that she had grown accustomed to: unlike John and presumably the Pond’s, she wasn’t able to be so spontaneous.

She preferred to think things over and assess.

She watched as John crossed the dance floor/chess board (that dance demonstration _had_ been truly painful) in great strides, desperate to escape Amy’s yards of wisdom on his past.

She also watched, as he neared the sign up table for karaoke, his hand being grasped by another long slender one and dragged off to an unknown location.

She watched as River Song claimed him as her own with only the crook of a finger.

————————————

“River, River Ri-” John was barely managing to get the words out from the kisses she was planting on his lips only breaking for the air he desperately craved, more than he currently craved the vivacious woman in front of him.

“Hush.” She planted a a finger in his lips after she had allowed their mouths to part, “Stop talking my love,” River breathed it into his ear and normally this would have sent him weak at the knees.

At one point this woman had him like putty in her hands, nothing made him happier than pissing off his father and shagging one of his colleagues was a decidedly enjoyable way of doing so especially when the colleague was Professor River Song.

She was all mouth and tongue and teeth wether that was just to taunt and flirt with him he shouldn’t say.

River had dragged him off into one of the empty living rooms, rarely used and definitely not open on tonight of all nights. She used the secluded spot to her advantage and was currently straddled across his lap and inflicting her signature brand of torture across his neck.

His brain went slightly hazy, all he could feel were the marks being left on his neck, the popping of the buttons on his shirt as she delved deeper and the scrape of her manicured claws in his hair.

River always managed to do this.

He was going to tell her to stop he really was- he did _try_ to earlier- but it was like animal magnetism everything about her seemed to call to him to just _touch her_ and that’s all he could do.

His hands found her hips somehow managing to pull her closer into his lap, the sinful feel of her against him was enough to make him groan. She just kept going unfazed, dragging her tongue across his bottom lip and pulling him tighter to her. She ground her hips onto his crotch causing him to buck against her, merely smiling in response: it’s like she takes sadistic pleasure in torturing him further.

Somehow amongst all the touching and kissing and the scrape of her teeth along the nape of his neck, John managed to find some clarity, the will to stop her from going any further no matter how much his body protested.

“River stop it.” He managed to gasp out the words, almost surprised that she actually heard him.

“What?” She looked at him as if he had just bought her a puppy for Christmas and then proceeded to kick it in the face.

“I can’t do this.”

“I’ve never heard you protest before,” she attempted to return to her ministrations on his neck but he grasped her wrists in his hands and guided her off of his lap swiftly ending their previous engagement (something his body really wasn’t going to thank him for).

He rose from the soft Parisian couch and strode over to the mirror to sort out his appearance so he could return to the party with at least a shred of dignity but also to avoid the harrowing gaze River was casting his way.

“Why?” It was barely a question more like a command, she may as well have said ‘speak’.

He ran a hand through his hair attempting it to return to the floppy way the stylist had it situated before that was meant to be secretly styled so it appeared natural.

“I just, this sneaking around…it was fun, it is fun!” He was stumbling over his words unable to explain. “I just can’t do it anymore River, we both deserve better than illicit rendezvous in your office or the back of a car or at my father’s 60th birthday party. We deserve more, but we can’t give each other more.”

“And you want more?” She cocked an eyebrow at him before bowing her head, a low chuckle escaping her lips, “You know John, you must be the only man in the world who would turn down a quick shag when he’s pissed.”

“If it makes you feel any better I feel like this was a very sobering experience.”

“It does a little sweetie,” he kept his eyes trained on his reflection, weirdly missing that goddamn badger mask because at least it kept his face hidden.

“You understand why it can’t be more don’t you?” She tried to make eye contact with him again but he persisted in avoiding her.

“You know I do- the list goes on and on after all,” she gave a small harrumph from behind, an almost laugh that never would be. “Lets see, there’s the fact of you being my father’s colleague,”

“Only when he lectures,” she interjected pointlessly.

“You don’t want marriage or kids or any semblance of a normal life and…if I’m being totally honest River, I don’t want those things with you.” She sucked in sharply and he quickly muttered a “sorry” before continuing on.

“There is a severe age gap, while I’m not going to lie the Mrs Robinson thing is a bit of a turn on-”

“Cheek!” She scolded him but amongst the pain of rejection in her eyes there was a hint of laughter: she always did have a good sense of humour.

“I’m just saying, it isn’t right to carry on when I think I need more, something that will last…something real.”

“Tell me…” she paused almost as if she were contemplating but John knows her well enough to know River knew everything she was going to say before the first word even passed her lips, this was just for show.

“Does this sudden urge for something ‘real’ have anything to do with a certain peacock waiting by the bar?” His eyes finally snapped up to meet hers, the mirror reducing the icy glare that was so predictably River.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He scoffed at her and the little voice inside of his head that said _‘yes you do’._

She came to stand by him then, crossing the room slowly and seductively even when she had no prey in sight. Her hand crossed the newly formed thousand mile distance between them resting on his cheek, a knowing, almost pitying look in her eye.

“The thing is my darling, I think you do although you are far too stubborn to do anything about it,” she smiled softly, John thought it suited her, the calmness.

“You were never one to take on anything real, anything that extends beyond day trips, a fast paced lifestyle and a quickie, it’s like you don’t know how, my love- however,” her hand left his face to take his hands in hers, “if you have found something that makes the pain of getting your heart broken worth it just for something _real,_ then try it my love, be brave,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek as her parting gift, “oh and spare me a thought know and then, I’d hate to be forgotten.”

She stalked out of the room, her presence lingering a while longer until John finally felt the air he was storing in lungs release back into the atmosphere.

His hands gripped at the mantle and his own eyes stared back at him from the mirror, no longer shrouded with lust but just an aching desire for his bed and his mother’s soothing singing voice.

He didn’t appreciate the character analysis she gave him; a steely resolve seemed to seep into his bones to get so drunk he wouldn’t remember the conversation he had just had.

A final brush of his hand through the mop of hair on his head and a final check his buttons were done up correctly and he was ready to return to the party but most importantly to the large quantities of drink calling his name.

——————————————————————

“Whereeeeee did youuuuuu get toooooooo,” Amy’s words were slurring now even when she was purposefully dragging them out, clearly the drinking hadn’t been put on hold in his absence.

“Oh you know me pond,” he sniffed “here and there, did I miss my father’s great performance?”

“Sadly, yes,” Rory interjected wrapping an arm around Amy’s waist who was beginning to wobble unceremoniously on her bar stool, “it was a beautiful rendition of ‘I just called to say I love you’ definitely one for the books, he had backup dancers this year,” John smacked his head in mock disappointment.

“How will I ever live with myself?” He grinned at the group in front of him feeling sublimely happy despite the earlier turmoil.

He wasn’t expecting Clara to pipe up.

“Well you have a chance to redeem your soul,” she attempted to point at him however her aim was a little off, “your dad convinced your Aunt Sarah Jane to join him for a duet.” Now that one sent John into a state of shock.

“Not aunt Sarah, Jesus she must be absolutely hammered,” Amy leapt off her stool then, stumbling a little on the dismount but she caught herself on the lapels of his jacket, the stench of alcohol hit his nose like a tidal wave crashing against the shore.

“I heard they were doing “islands in the stream’.” John was about to laugh at the absurdity of his beloved if rather formal aunt imitating Dolly Parton before Amy silenced him. “However that is not the most important act of the night.”

“Oh and what would that be Pond?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I’m rather glad you asked.” She held out a slip toward him.

“We’re doing ‘bohemian rhapsody’ babe.”

—————————————————

By the time the charity shop Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton had delivered their final notes to the adoring crowd, who were so drunk the music translated to sounding good when in actual fact it was a cat’s choir, John was drunk again.

It hadn’t taken much coercion, especially when he knew what was coming.

Amy and Clara had been bouncing ‘Galileos’ back and forth between them whilst Rory was preparing for his big solo.

“Ameliaaaaaaa,”

“What,” Amy whisper shouted something that commonly occurred when she thought she was in control of her volume.

“Did I ever tell you that I really don’t like you,” clearly joking the pair burst into a fit of outrageous giggles that probably wouldn’t have occurred without the influence of beer.

“Now we are going to welcome to the stage- Karen and the Babes!” The DJ hired for the nighttime set, long after the orchestra packed up, called out to the crowd in that typical cheap DJ voice- even with all the money in the world, a school disco DJ was a school disco DJ.

“Ooh that’s us,” Amy made a sprint for the stage tugging Clara along behind her, only narrowly avoiding a lot of crystal glasses.

“Who’s Karen?” Rory shrugged in response before following after his mad cap wife psyching himself up. “Great that answered that question,” John said to himself in the absence of his mates.

Taking one last swig of his beer he made his way to the stage arms splayed and shouted, “Are you ready to rock?!” To the adoring crowd below: maybe he should have been a rockstar.

“MAMAAAAAAAA!” God he sounded _just_ like Freddie mercury.

“Anyway the wind blows” maybe he was Karen? The others were certainly acting like the babes. They were singing backing vocals after all.

“I don’t wanna die, I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all.” He gripped the microphone in an attempt to be dramatic before making way for Amy and Clara’s Gallileo’s.

“OH MAMMA MIA MAMMA MIA” there goes Rory. They should really consider starting a proper band, he could totally change his name to Karen…

The rag tag group who were not as good as they thought they were, erupted into a mess of air guitars across the stage with Rory just about managing to hold it together for the rest of the lyrics. Before the song was up however, John composed himself and made a mad dash towards the microphone for the final ballad.

“Anywhere the wind blowsssssssss” the group held the notes, like a really bad college A cappella group, ending a little after the symbol signal. 

The crowd erupted into a generous applause, that had they been sober never would have occurred, and the babes gave their bows in ridiculous fashion. John pulled them in close and planted a kiss on Amy’s head before doing the same on Clara’s.

He was too drunk to notice or care that he lingered a little longer on one of those heads.

————————————

“Hands down the best party your dad has EVER thrown!” Amy had stripped herself of her towering heels and was now balancing along the swimming pool wall, walking up and down it swigging champagne from the bottle as she went.

“Why thank you very much Pond, us Smiths appreciate it ever so much.” John was following along behind her with his own bottle of champagne to match.

“I’ve never attended one of your sad’s,” Clara hiccuped in the middle of her sentence which John chose to catalogue away as something cute, “I mean your dad’s parties however if I had been!” She shouted and pointed up to him from where she was sat, her feet dangling in the water.

“I would have to agree this was indeed the best party he ever threw.” She nodded her head to mark the end of the sentiment and John started giggling at her serious tone despite her inability to say long words.

That was a mistake.

The laughing fit resulted in him toppling into the pool, taking Amy with him and drenching Clara and Rory for good measure.

There was a brief cry from a Scottish voice of “Save the booze,” however they had more pressing concerns.

John floundered in the pool, his suit clinging to him and his hair dripping. He was ready to get out and call it a night- these parties had gotten out of hand before best not to tempt fate- when the big ginge pounced on him from behind dunking him under in vengeance for the destruction of her dress.

An all out war erupted between the two friends that Rory cared not to mediate, instead he leant in to Clara and said “tenner he wins,”

“Oh I like those odds, he just soaked her designer dress, he’s definitely getting mauled. You are on.” They shook hands and returned to watch the underwater wrestling match unfold but when they turned the pool was empty, the only evidence of someone being there was the gentle wave that was clearly man made as the water resettled.

“Where did they g-AHHHH!” Clara felt strong arms wrap around her waist and almost felt secure until she was lifted and flung into the water like a ragdoll.

Rory on the other hand was shoved in with all the strength Amy could muster and mostly slid in naturally. He lifted his arms and she sank back into the pool, happy to float about in her husbands arms.

Clara, however, was ready to attack.

She unclipped the faux peacock train from her dress, not to protect it, rather because it was weighing her down and she was planning on being agile.

Descending into the water, in a jaws like fashion she travelled the length of the pool in search of John, containing a nefarious giggle when she saw his legs kicking out.

She sprung out of the water and latched herself onto his shoulders with an exaggerated growl meant to imitate a fearsome tiger but mostly sounded like a drunken wail.

She dunked his head under, using his body as her own personal float despite already being completely drenched anyway and was about to declare herself victorious until he flipped her from underneath. The power was back in his hands as he held her in the water, gripping her hips to keep his leverage and desperately ignoring the water droplets settling on her lip or travelling down her neck.

“Put me down, I need to get back to dunking you.” She attempted to sound commanding or at least assertive and she thought she had succeeded for one brief moment until she saw the evil glint in his eye.

“Ok you’re the boss,” she was ready to retort with “Am I?” But the breath was quite literally taken out of her as he ‘put her down’ which in his world clearly meant being flung across the pool.

She eventually resurfaced spluttering slightly, due to the fact that her mouth had been open when he threw her, and glided back across the pool to him where he seemed to be waiting for her with open arms.

“Want to go again?” He flashed her that dumb grin which to her almost seemed like a dare.

“No I do not.” She paused for a moment, lulling him into a false sense of security before splashing him with a tsunami of her own creation. He immediately started splashing her back and within seconds they were hurtling around the pool like they were six years old trying to get the best splash.

Amy and Rory, who had taken to sitting on the ceramic tiled steps in the shallow end, watched on still very buzzed. Amy leant her back into Rory, no longer caring about her once beautiful dress, and smiled rather smugly as the water lapped around them.

“Look dear, they’re flirting.”

“I can see that.”

“How long do you think it will take them to see that?”

“Those two? Stubborn as mules even if you slapped it smack dab in front of them they still wouldn’t see it.” Rory ran a hand through her wet hair, it wasn’t as soothing as when the ginger locks were dry but it had become habit now.

“We’ll have to see what we can do about that.” She twisted round to look up at him, smirking as her brain plotted, Rory was more focused on planting a kiss on her lips than becoming a matchmaker.

“I suppose we will…” He murmured into her ear as they returned their attention back to the Doctor and Clara who had taken to wrestling each other across the pool. “I suppose we will.”

———————————

Their feet squelched into the carpet as they tried to get back to their rooms without waking anyone.

So far it wasn’t going well.

Clara knew the headache tomorrow would be horrific and she was already anticipating her day in bed but each second of pain tomorrow was worth the bliss she felt now. She almost felt like she was floating on air and each terrible decision of the night was simply the best thing ever.

When they left the pool Clara didn’t even know existed until this very night, Amy had immediately clambered onto Rory’s back, heels in hand and Clara had the slightest suspicion by the time they were in the main hallway she had fallen asleep in the crook of his neck.

Clara was more than happy to walk on her own, giggling away as she went at nothing in particular but after she nearly crashed into a ming vase that probably cost as much as one of the cars outside, John had looped an arm around her waist and was guiding her back to her room as safely as possible.

Somehow he was much steadier on his feet. Clara assumed this was due to the tolerance he had built to alcohol over the years, plenty of practise she didn’t have. Getting this drunk had never been a habit of hers and she was much newer to it than the rest of her company. Somehow, she found herself rather enjoying it.

He was warm against her side despite the cooling effect of the soaking clothes and the smell of his cologne clung to him despite the chlorine overpowering it.

“You smell nice.” She mused, unaware of her own brain at this point. “Chlorine cologne.” He chuckled at her babbling and pulled her round the corner his hand tightening on her slim waist as he did so.

“You should smell like that all the time.” She thrust a finger into the centre of his chest as best she could considering she was pinned to his side.

“I’ll do my very best Clara,” he stopped rather abruptly for Clara’s tastes. She was enjoying strolling around with him, “however right now you need to go in there and go to sleep.” They’d reached her large white door and suddenly she wasn’t desperate for what was on the other side.

“I don’t wanna.” She pouted at him whilst he turned the handle. “I don’t want this night to end,” she twirled around the corridor and he had to grab her hips to prevent her breaking anything.

“Everything ends Clara.” He smiled softy and his eyes were old again.

“Not everything. Not love.” She placed a hand on his cheek and she hoped she wasn’t imagining the feel of him leaning into it.

“That’s very poetic Clara especially for,” he looked down at his Rolex and sucked in a sharp breath of air “four-thirty in the morning when your drunk.”

“I try,” she didn’t mean for her eyes to shut, but they did, betraying her exhaustion. Bastards.

He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and she’s sure she heard him call her impossible.

“Goodnight Doctor,” she mumbled falling through the door “night Rory.”

If either of them said goodnight back, she didn’t stick around to hear it.

She stumbled into her bathroom and attempted to peel off the once stunning, blue dress from her skin. Once it finally released her from its grip, she forced her arms to run a towel through her hair and across her body so she didn’t have to go to sleep completely drenched.

She’d didn’t bother removing whatever remained of her makeup, something she’d probably regret in the morning. She didn’t bother running a brush through her hair and she only just found the strength to put on a pair of soft, cotton pjs that felt like a hug in the dark.

The onset of a headache was coming, the slow rhythmic pumping entering her brain and she tried to cast it away and focus on the night and the sublime fun she never thought she’d be able to have with a crowd like this.

Her mind twisted to John, the man she had almost condemned for nights like this and she wondered if those judgments were incorrect or applied to herself now.

She allowed the thoughts to drain from her mind and sunk into her pillow, twisting round until the room faded to black.

—————————————————————-

“Walk with me a bit further.” Rory whispered to him in the dark, the only light coming from the moonbeams casting through the arching windows.

John nodded stiffly even though they had already reached the Pond’s room. His mind was still racing over every word and movement that came from drunk Clara.

Rory swiftly deposited Amy in an armchair in the corner of the room, waiting before he got her ready for bed to speak with John.

“Everything alright mate?” John said to him in a hushed tone.

“Uh yeah I was just gonna ask about earlier, with River.” Rory was the only one John had ever told about his fling with River Song, normally he’d tell Amy too but he hadn’t planned for anyone to know in the first place, he had only accidentally ended up spilling his guts to Rory when Amy was away on business before they moved to New York.

“I called it off.” Rory’s mouth went slightly agape and his eyes bugged. He let out a low whistle.

“Didn’t see that coming, I thought you loved sleeping with River, never thought you’d stop to be honest…why the change of mind?”

John dropped his gaze from Rory’s and shuffled on the spot with an almost silent sigh.

“More a change of heart.”

He slapped Rory’s shoulder and parted with a quick “night mate.” Desperate for the bed waiting for him a few doors down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment or kudos it really makes my day!  
> If you want to see anything please let me know I already have a few ideas for what's next.  
> I was debating looking into the past a bit more with the doctor's relationships with river and Rose.  
> Also I spent my entire time writing this listening to Norman f*cking Rockwell and oh my god that album is so good, might have to incorporate it into something.  
> Anyway thanks for reading!


	7. Did He Make You Say No Taksie Backsies?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the birthday party, a group of very hungover guests end up forced on a walk with a rather childish outcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so in this AU, the idea of old money and heirs and heiresses is a much bigger thing to the public. Think of the likes of the royal family or celebrities except it's these wealthy families that are hounded by the press, just wanted to make that clear x

The next morning never should have come. It was far too bright, far too cold and far too _loud._

Clara rested her head in her hands, breaking protocol just this once to put her elbows on the table, creating a cradle that would hopefully silence her pounding headache.

The sharp wake up call had demanded they all come to breakfast at ten o’clock prompt. Despite everyone at the table suffering, Mr Smith clearly never strayed from routine or allowed a lazy day.

The aforementioned Mr Smith sat at the head of the table, a massive Sunday morning newspaper unfurled in front of him as a way of blocking out all of the other guests. He flipped the pages every five minutes or so and Clara felt like snapping at him to just _shut up_ when he tutted at a column he didn’t like.

The bacon and sausages he’d requested were getting steadily colder but the smell of the fry up still made Clara want to be sick into the plant pot in the corner of the room.

She tried picking at the slice of toast in front of her but the butter she’d elected for, instead of her usual strawberry jam or Nutella, just melted in further, pooling in a way that made her feel as if she were at sea and she felt her hand unconsciously push the plate away.

She’d definitely chosen the wrong seat, she thought as she dropped yet another sugar cube into her tea and stirred absentmindedly.

The only thing taking her mind off of this hangover was the china teacup sat in front of her.

The sun was casting it’s rays viciously through the French windows; either not caring about the people inside or taking sheer pleasure in the pain it was causing.

John was lucky enough to be sitting opposite her and had managed to escape the evil glare of light, sadly he wasn’t able to block the sun from her view despite his broad shoulders- _nope to hungover for that._

He didn’t look too bad considering the previous night, sure he hadn’t bothered to brush his hair creating some pretty awkward angles and he had deep bags under his eyes and yes maybe he hadn’t smiled all morning but compared to Clara he must look like a saint.

Even though he had drunk enough to rival a sailor he was still managing to scoff food into his mouth- _clearly his stomach hadn’t been affected_ Clara thought almost viciously. Currently he was making his way through his third plate after a bowl of chocolate rice crispies and a pancake with sugar and lemon. Clara couldn’t understand where he put all of this food as he cut up yet another sausage, barely opening his eyes as he did so.

This was the only breakfast she’d attended where she was allowed to wear her pjs rather than having to get dressed before hand and for that she thanked God.

Straight after this she’d be crawling back into bed, Smith Sr’s schedule be damned and to do so she didn’t need to change back into her pjs.

Due to her killer hangover she didn’t feel so self conscious about sitting in them, normally she would she just couldn’t help it, but judging by Amy’s nightie, Smith Sr’s silk pjs and the fact that John had clearly just wrapped a dressing gown over his boxers, it wasn’t such a big deal.

There was a smattering of other guests at the table who had stayed the night as well-it’s not like the Smiths didn’t have the room.

John’s Aunt Sarah Jane, a seemingly cold woman who in actual fact was wonderful once you began speaking to her, (Clara had discovered this after an incident involving a spilled Malibu and coke) sat at the opposite end of Mr Smith with her teenage son Luke on her right.

She was the joint partner in Amy’s publishing firm that she had inherited from her Aunt Sharon although Sarah Jane handled the journalism mostly in the London headquarters rather than New York. Clara got the impression they were rather like the Murdocks.

Amy and Rory, of course, who were both feeling the same as Clara evidently. Unfortunately for Amy their night in the pool had led to her hair being rather crazy and curly; though at this point Clara doubted she really cared.

There was also a cousin of John’s named Harold Saxon. He sat right by Smith Sr and seemed to be constantly trying to ingratiate himself and for some reason Smith Sr allowed it.

Clara remembered reading an article in the paper once about the rivalry between John and Harold, the bad boy bachelor vs the straight edged Oxford graduate. The rumour mill had been churning it out for years that Harold was going for John’s position in the company despite not being the direct heir.

Clara couldn’t put her finger on it but something about him felt off, like something was lurking under the surface that was dark, well the same could be said about John, but this was _different;_ almost evil.

She knew it was unfair to label someone as evil, even simply in her own head however she couldn’t shake this feeling.

He had a wife, a pretty heiress who hadn’t really done much with her life other than marry and support Harold but she seemed sweet from what Clara had seen.

Lucy Saxon sat opposite him and somehow managed to seem picture perfect even after last nights antics as if she hadn’t had more than a few glasses of wine, _maybe she didn’t not everyone is an alcoholic._

She had a small bowl of fruit in front of her ranging from papaya to mango and an even smaller bowl of porridge topped with honey next to that. Clara was sure she heard her say “I don’t do carbs” when the servers asked, though she’s slightly less sure if she saw Harold give her an approving nod.

The breakfast carried on in silence only being broken by the scrape of cutlery and the turn of the newspaper. Harold was still trying to strike up a conversation with Smith Sr however he stopped talking after receiving glares from the majority of the hangover crowd.

Clara turned her attention to John, still wolfing down his bacon. She didn’t expect him to look up and give her his first smile of the morning but it was a welcome surprise all the same.

It wasn’t his usual grin, just a soft turn of his lips, the kind of smile you have when you know something or wish you could say something.

Surprisingly, she found herself smiling back, her own just as small but distinctly there.

When Harold attempted his spiel about the businesses future ventures, John met her eyes again before rolling his at the mans disregard for subtlety. That was when John properly spoke for the first time.

“That’s enough Harry, you need to save some sucking up for later don’t you think?” His cousin was about to protest before being silenced by Mr Smith with only a wave of his hand.

“At least he has _some_ direction John.” He didn’t even lift his eyes from the page. Those almost bored words would be enough to silence everyone for the rest of the meal if they weren’t already. Clara noticed John had lost his smile.

She felt a tug of sympathy and reached her foot out to his leg to tap it reassuringly. His eyes snapped up to hers before he lightly kicked her foot back. _No she was not playing bloody footsie not with John Smith of all people especially not today of all days._

Despite that warning to herself, she kicked back.

Then so did he.

They kept going until their feet settled leaning against each other in that apprehensive way where they go slightly numb and you feel as if you should move but at the same time you don’t want to and you don’t know why.

She’s pretty sure she heard Harold mumble something like ‘lovebirds’ but chose to ignore it just in case she was wrong.

Instead she tried to manage a few more bites of her toast in hopes of getting back to bed quicker.

—————————————————————

She’d managed to slump back into bed at half ten and received a blissful hour and a half of dreamless sleep until there was yet another sharp rap on her door.

Her eyes snapped open and she clambered out of her four poster bed, grumbling as she went.

She almost ripped the door off its hinges as she opened it and was prepared to berate whoever dared interrupt her sleep _again._ However on the other side of the door was the maid she’d met earlier, Gwyneth she thinks it was, and the fight drained out of her, she really didn’t want to be horrible to this poor girl.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt Miss Clara, but everyone has been invited out for a walk…it’s uhh not _optional_ ,” she emphasised the last word causing Clara to raise an eyebrow, clearly the staff had been threatened to get the meaning across.

She can always sense the signs, her wicked witch of a stepmother did it enough to the staff at home.

She gave a sigh and turned to go get ready.

“Well I don’t want to get you in trouble so I best follow my orders,” Clara gave her a mock salute which was met with a small laugh that Gwyneth covered with a cough, in case her employer was hiding behind one of the crystal vases, waiting for his chance to pounce.

Mr Smith really was a scary man.

“Thank you Miss Clara-”

“Just Clara remember,”

“Yes sorry, _Clara,_ they are meeting by the front door in fifteen minutes, I know that doesn’t give you long to get ready but I wanted to let you lie in for a little longer.”

“Me and my under eye bags appreciate that immensely,” Gwyneth blushed a little before nodding as her signal to go and shutting the door behind her.

Right.

Fifteen minutes. She can totally do this.

Her hair was full of chlorine thanks to her quick dip last night so she had no choice to put it into a bun, allowing the front ringlets of her hair to hang down as some sort of face shaper. She rushed to brush her teeth and shower, considering to do both at the same time for a brief second- _no she hadn’t fallen that far._

Right make up. She inspected her face in the mirror and decided on concealer and mascara, they were just going on a walk and she had no one to impress, nope, no one at all.

She pulled on one of the few pairs of jeans Linda allowed her to own and a white jumper she covered with a black leather jacket.

She dragged on her shoes (which caused her to crash into the dresser as she flailed about in her lack of time). She had about a minute to spare as she descend the stairs to the main hall.

Of course everyone else was already there.

“Ah Clara good to see you,” Mr Smith declared seeming genuine, “Alright let’s head off, a bit of fresh air could do us all some good,” Amy let out a small groan from the back of the room and, wether he heard it or not, Smith Sr ignored it.

——————————————————————

The day was far too sunny and far too cold. It should be one or the other in Clara’s opinion. Either sunny and warm or cold and grey, there is absolutely no need for one of each.

Amy was either incredibly smart having anticipated the sun with her sunglasses or still very hungover. Something told Clara it was the latter.

At the front of the group was Mr Smith leading them forward as if he were a great explorer of uncharted lands. At his heels was Harold Saxon; something told Clara that at school he was a total teachers pet.

Lucy walked two steps behind him not because she was lagging it seemed like that was what she was _expected_ to do. Clara felt a wave of sympathy for the woman who seemed to be ignored unless there was an advantage for Harold.

That had always been Clara’s greatest concern about marriage especially considering the life she leads, she couldn’t handle not being considered an equal or even a marriage for economic gain. In her mind she would marry for love or she wouldn’t at all.

So many of the girls she grew up with who are fellow socialites were forced into arranged marriages for some reason or another and Clara couldn’t think of anything worse: she’d rather lose everything material before she gave up her autonomy.

She had a tendency to cave to other people’s demands already, she certainly didn’t need someone like Harold Saxon weighing in.

Most people assumed that the practise of arranged marriages died with the dark ages and that is exactly how the ones arranging them want people to see it. When the touched up faces of the future Mr and Mrs beamed from the covers of a glossy magazine, the public were expected to believe it was real.

She suspected this may have been what happened to Lucy Saxon.

Around five years ago, when John was 23 and had just broken up with Rose Tyler for the third time (“ _Living Parallel lives”_ was the headline if Clara remembered correctly.) the tabloids sparked a rumour that his next girlfriend would be old money heiress Lucy Cole and it seemed like it was true, especially after they were seen going for dinner.

However, as soon as the rumour mill began churning it stopped. They were rarely pictured together after that sighting, John continued to be wild and free eventually crashing that limo and suddenly there was a shiny, diamond ring on Lucy’s finger- just not from John.

His jaded, older cousin Harold appeared out of no where and moved pretty quickly even for high society. Many speculated the marriage was out of spite rather than love though, of course, John didn’t seem to care a jot.

Hundreds of stories like that were reported, Harold desperately trying to outshine the playboy prince who despite his antics the papers still seemed to adore. Anytime John seemed to put a toy down Harold wasn’t far behind to claim it as if it were his all along. Clara would almost feel sorry for him if she couldn’t sense his vicious jealous streak from a mile away.

It seemed like the definition of the green eyed monster. Though a small voice seemed to warn her that the monster may be the man himself rather than his affliction with envy.

Clara looked slightly off to the side where Sonic was bounding along clearly delighted with the prospect of this many people on his walk with him.

Giddily jumping along with him was John, which seemed to be simultaneously surprising and exactly what she would expect. Not even a massive hangover could get between that man and his dog- or his childish nature.

John was trailed by Luke Smith, who looked at his cousin with utter awe. Clara had heard from Sarah Jane that he was very adept in the sciences and almost idolised John who shared a similar mindset.

Luckily, John clearly doted on the young lad and they had an almost brotherly bond she observed as they roughhoused with each other and the dog, laughing as they went.

Even luckier, they had broken off from the rest of the group so Clara wasn’t gripping her ears in pain at the volume of their laughter. Any other day she would have been more than happy to join in.

Right now? Laughter was the work of the devil.

John swung an arm around Luke’s shoulders rather subdued, speaking in a hushed tone as they walked earning a small chuckle from Luke like he was trying to keep quiet but failing.

They continued their way separate from the others and Clara eventually broke off her gaze, unaware that she had been noticed.

“They’ve always been close.” Sarah Jane spoke clearly through the low wind, nodding towards the pair and startling Clara back to a reality where you don’t obsessively analyse your company’s behaviour.

“Luke spent a lot of time here when I was travelling for work- always an article that needs writing, you know?” she gave a melancholy smile as she watched her son. “As a rather positive result of my absence those two are thick as thieves.”

“Like brothers…It seems nice.” Clara said wistfully.

“It is.” She gave a stiff nod of her head. “I view John as my son as much as Luke, especially after his mother’s passing, Verity was a wonderful woman…” The statement seemed rather blunt to Clara, as if a boundary was being set but she chose to ignore it, suspecting that this was possibly just Sarah Jane’s method of communicating.

“Yes I’ve heard a little about her.” At the mere suggestion of this Sarah Jane’s head snapped up to look Clara in the eye. They were of a similar height with was decidedly rare for Clara but a welcome change nonetheless.

“That’s rather unusual.” Clara dropped her eyes to her feet, watching each footstep like it was the latest blockbuster hit rather than keep the older woman’s steely gaze.

“John’s barely mentioned her name in the past year never mind talking about her, especially with someone he hardly knows- no offence dear.” Clara waived her hands in a noncommittal gesture to assure that offence was not taken.

“Very unusual indeed.” She paused for breath before carrying on.

“The whole house was scrubbed of any and every memory of her, I don’t think either of them could bear it.” Sarah Jane seemed to be pouring every ounce of her energy into the gaze that she fixed onto Clara, a perfect balance between guidance and warning, with maybe, just maybe, a smidge of curiosity.

“My dad did that. When my mum died, I mean.” Clara sighed casting her gaze upwards to the white sky full of light but lacking in colour as if it were mimicking, or mocking, the crowd beneath it, who were just as lifeless and colourless.

“You can’t tell now of course, Linda redid the whole place with _very_ little warning so there’s no blank spaces left to plague us.” She added bitterly and she could tell it was sensed.

“I’m sorry, no one should lose their mother so young,” She rubbed her hand along the younger girls shoulder in a calming manner before sharply withdrawing. “Which is why what I have to say to you next will be so difficult.”

“Wait what do you mean diffi-” Clara was silenced with a firm hand in the air.

“Be delicate. You should know more than most I assume how hard the burden of grief is. That young man has a lot of love to give, hoards of it. Heaps. Sometimes I think he forgets because some little voice tells him no one deserves it apart from her. Other times I see him with Luke,” she gestured toward them playfully shoving each other “and my heart breaks because he should be free to be like that all the time. I think he might be opening his heart to you now wether you would like to see it or not and wether he knows it or not. I don’t expect you to be in love with him, I don’t expect you to do anything but _be delicate._ Because if I have to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart once again you don’t want to know what I’ll do.”

“I-” annnnnnnd silenced once again.

“This is a lot to put on you I know and I’m guessing rather out of the blue for you but I’m not sure when I’ll get the opportunity for this conversation again so I ask, darling just be careful. From what I’ve seen you are bright and funny and quite a looker, you’ve also got a wonderful height,” she added with a wink despite her serious tone.

“Exactly what he needs and before long probably what he’ll want… not that he’d ever admit it to anyone especially you, so no need to worry about that.” She paused for breath and Clara began internally praying for whatever this was to be over.

“Anyway, I wouldn’t be doing my job as the stubborn bugger’s aunt if you didn’t get this from me considering his personal history… Lord knows his father won’t do it.”

She removed her fiery gaze from Clara for the first time in the conversation to actually give a glare to the back of her brother’s bald head, making Clara rather glad she was only receiving a warning rather than an actual dressing down from Sarah Jane.

“Ah well don’t mind the ramblings of an old woman…I’m getting on a bit.” Clara stood there like a numpty. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, gasping for the air that had been ripped from her lungs.

Sarah Jane just strode off as abruptly as she came, her short legs in black riding boots covering significant distance for her stature that Clara really needs to ask her about.

The formidable yet vivacious woman eventually caught up to her brother and gave a small glance back towards Clara so brief and so quick Clara thought she’d imagined it.

It was like her brain was on fire, burning and whirring and fizzing with all this information she didn’t quite understand. For one thing John Smith was not the kind who _‘opened his heart’_ to girls like her and for another she was certain she didn’t want him to.

Almost certain.

If her hangover headache had received any cure from her nap it was absolutely destroyed now and Clara felt as though she’d been on a week long bender rather than simply attending a party.

The whole conversation was a lot a to take in. Even more so now, Clara needed her bed or maybe a massive jug of water.

It felt like a truck had been dropped on her and she wasn’t entirely sure if the weight she was now lifting was physical or emotional. Rather than explaining anything to her, Sarah Jane had continued on as if nothing had happened and Clara was wondering more and more if the whole family operated in this blunt yet seemingly enigmatic way. A total opposite to the Oswald’s soft and gentle approach.

Really could she not have waited just a little bit longer before pouncing?

“Ouch, the bollock buster strikes again,” Amy joined Clara’s side giving her a mock wince and a cheeky wink from behind her slightly lowered sunglasses.

“The _bollock buster_?” She raised an eyebrow. The nickname certainly suited her.

“A few men in her department when she first started out in journalism gifted it to her, she reclaimed it and kept it.” They laughed quietly together watching Miss Smith taking over as the lead from her brother. From the little she knew about Sarah Jane Smith this one detail summed her up perfectly.

“Don’t take it personally, she usually gives everyone the first degree though I have to say you have may have gotten even worse than the famed Rose Tyler herself.” Amy cast a sideways look her way, attempting to seem all knowing or at least teasing. It would have done so if she hadn’t stumbled over her feet on the slightly muddy grass due to the light drizzle beginning.

God bless British weather.

Amy clutched Clara’s arm, wrapping her pale fingers around in an iron grip that Clara nearly yelped at before she was sent into a fit of giggles over Amy’s face as she tried to right herself.

“Did I mention, I hate the outdoors?” Amy grumbled while resetting her sunglasses on her face, blocking out any possible sources of light. “I’ll never understand people who enjoy _this_ or even worse _camping.”_ The redhead physically shuddered and looked as if bile really was rising in her throat which just made Clara laugh harder.

“Me and my friend Nina went once, usually I don’t mind nature, I quite like the scenery but dear God…” tears of laughter formed in her eyes at the memory. “These cows must have chased us for absolute miles…so territorial,” She wiped at her cheeks to get the cold water droplets off before they froze to her face.

Ok _slight_ exaggeration, but it was really cold.

“I swear Nina can’t go near cows to this day, she orders burgers out of spite now.”

Clara thought back to her friend from uni. She was Clara’s exact opposite in every way but they seemed to balance each other out.

Where Clara preferred a book Nina waited for the film adaption- she declared herself victorious when they made the new Great Gatsby.

Nina flirted shamelessly and decidedly more _dirty_ than Clara could manage and the clothing she wore was usually much brighter and bolder than Clara could pull off.

Just like Amy, Nina was all legs. The further she considered it there was quite a lot of similarities between the two; specifically concerning their outrageousness.

If Clara allowed her mind to go there for even a second, she’d realise there was rather a lot of similarities between Nina and a certain floppy-haired, hazel-eyed idiot frolicking over the hills at this current moment.

However she refused to let her mind go there. At all.

“Rory took me camping once, fancies himself as a bit of a Bear Grylls.” Clara glanced over to where Rory was attempting to calm down John to no avail. “Never again. And I mean never again, I may or may not have set fire to the tents to solidify my point.”

Clara and Amy walked on exchanging stories from their youth, each one of Amy’s stories had Clara in stitches.

She just seemed to command a crowd with that dramatic flair of hers. Clara found herself enjoying her present company more and more in a way she didn’t expect when she first encountered the likes of John Smith and everything he entails and she wasn’t exactly sure what to do with that information.

——————————————————————

The group had edged further on to a woodland that Amy informed her was Foxberry woods. Clara felt as if she had fallen into a fairy tale with the feel of the soft ground underneath her feet and the smell of pine in the air that really, definitely didn’t smell a little like John.

As they ventured further in and the tree canopy blocked out the light from above little by little, Amy discarded her sunglasses, absentmindedly passing them off to a complacent Rory in a manner clearly routine between the couple now. Clara tried not to be jealous over how Amy didn’t look like she was suffering from a hangover at all.

A babbling brook gurgled through the forest and the whole place seemed like a second out of time. The world was ticking away except for this pocket of reality that stood still, a photograph holding a living memory.

The pine trees were a deep green even in the bleakest winter standing out amongst the drab greys and browns as they towered above enveloping Clara into this place so she could never leave.

Some part of her doesn’t want to.

For some reason Smith Sr chose this point to brandish a rolled up broadsheet paper he had masterfully stuffed into his pocket and strode over to a bench that was randomly placed in the centre of a gap in the trees. It was bathed in a small glow of light the rest of the wood didn’t receive and Mr Smith allowed himself to bask in it as he thumbed through the rest of the paper. ( _Though,_ Clara thought rather snidely, _there couldn’t be much left to read after his loud display this morning_.)

Sarah Jane sat down next to him and wordlessly he passed her a section, both of them becoming engrossed.

From the way Harold Saxon was craning his neck, Clara assumed he desperately wanted to be a part of this cosy reading but he had been decidedly shut out.

“Amy, Clara!” John’s voiced called through the trees drawing Clara back in. “I can guarantee he’ll stay until he’s finished and I’d put money on a debate between him and Aunt Sarah breaking out before even then so…fancy a little game?”

“If it involves any sort of alcohol, you’ll find your head in the stream.” Amy warned.

“I was going to suggest tig but if you insist?” John raised his eyebrows suggestively before receiving a sharp whack across each arm; one from Amy, one from Clara. “No alcohol, understood. Hangover’s are clearly in full swing still.Besides if you two detectives bothered to check I don’t have any on me anyway- I’m not an animal.” Luke laughed at this and John seemed to swell with pride.

He fit the role of big brother well.

“That’s debatable,” Clara muttered not expecting to be heard, but she received a rather half-arsed glare from John when Luke snorted unable to hide his amusement from his cousin.

“For that Lukey-boy you are on,” John tapped the young lad’s arm before sprinting away giggling like a little kid as Luke groaned. Rory had already sprinted off in the other direction clearly seeing where this was going.

Amy grasped Clara’s hand and dragged her off up a hill barely pausing for breath when they reached the top.

“You realise we are grown adults playing tig?” Clara laughed with Amy from behind the big rock they were surveying the landscape.

“Correction: we are _competitive_ grown adults playing tig, if you think anyone is gonna go easy on you, then you are in for a reality check- not even the Doctor will.” She spoke in hushed tones as if she were on a secret mission.

“Why would John go easy on me?”

Amy just looked at her in what Clara thought was incredulity but said nothing.

A twig snapped and in return their heads snapped up to greet their new visitor. Rory held his hands up in surrender as Amy brandished a stick in his direction.

“Stay back, you might be on.” Amy growled. She wasn’t kidding about the competitiveness.

“As if Luke could catch me.” Rory joked but when he was met with equal looks of disbelief he continued on. “Fine he could catch me but he hasn’t, I think he’s trying to get John back, plus would I really risk my place in a nice, cozy bed tonight by lying?” He seemed honest enough.

Amy appraised him before lowering the stick as a sign of alliance which she soon would regret.

Rory approached and started laughing. “If Luke hadn’t got me, I think he was gunning for Clara, he’s got a little thing for you- according to John.”

Amy grinned and muttered to Rory, probably hoping for Clara to hear “Must run in the Smith family…wait if Luke hadn’t got you?” A Cheshire Cat grin spread across Rory’s face as he tigged Amy with no remorse, quickly fleeing as she screeched “You bastard!” After him.

Clara didn’t stick around to find out how competitive she got. She also didn’t want to be around when the fiery redhead extracted her revenge on Rory.

She darted through the trees artfully, making sure to keep her movements erratic to prevent being followed.

Wow, this competitive spirit seemed to be infectious.

She whipped her head round to check for a tail while continuously moving forward putting ground between herself and an angry Amy.

Rory’s betrayal was not going away lightly.

She ended up back where they had begun mostly and cowered behind a small mound of dirt on the forest floor. This game was not big on dignity. She peered over, looking for any other players, where she saw Harold and Lucy Saxon stood like stone statues.

They had their backs to her but she could see Harold’s firm grip on Lucy’s arm as he hissed something into her ear.

She seemed to recoil from him but he only dragged her closer speaking again until she nodded bleakly and he eventually let go roughly. He strode off to where the two elder Smiths were sat and tried to insert himself into their conversation, whilst Lucy stood still as if she were awaiting orders, unable to join in the game…or move apparently.

Clara felt a rush of sympathy for the woman but when she rose to go speak to her she felt a larger hand slip into hers.

“Don’t.” A hushed voice whispered in her ear. “You’ll only make it worse for her.” Clara turned to see John and barely managed to realise the little distance between them before the scent of cologne hit her nose.

It was intoxicating and comforting at the same time and she had to physically restrain herself from burying her face in his knitted jumper. One thing she could do was make sure he never found out about _that_ little thought.

“Wait you knew he treats her like that?” Clara accused.

“Please Clara everyone knows,” he said it as if it were obvious, “the only people who could really do anything about it are my father, Lucy’s father and Lucy herself and Lord knows none of them would dare intervene with how Harry leads his life- don’t look at me like that if I could stop it I would.”

“This is just the normal for you then? That poor woman gets treated like that and everyone just turns a blind eye? That’s sick.” Clara was a ball of fury and she almost physically fought John when he placed his hands on her shoulders, bringing his face to her level.

“Of course not, I wouldn’t dream of-” He stopped with a sigh and looked at the ground for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “Harry has a wicked temper, probably a lot worse than yours or mine but he also actively tries to be the most charming man in the room- doesn’t work when I’m there of course.” He sniffed the air in a mocking manner but sharply carried on after Clara fixed him with a glare.

“All I’m saying is, no one would believe her for a start, not their friends and certainly not the tabloids and if Harry caught wind of her going to the police she’d get far worse,” He looked down as if he were ashamed about what he was going to say next. “I tried to get her help once and do you know what happened?” Clara shook her head lamely.

“That bruise on her arm turned into a black eye, that was quietly covered up for a magazine spread the next day where she smiled like the happiest woman on the planet. Please don’t be the reason she gets another, you don’t want that on your conscience.”

“I can’t have not doing anything on my conscience either!” 

“Leave it to me, I’m working on it. Just please don’t put yourself on Harry’s radar it’s not somewhere I want you to be, promise me please,” He looked at her his eyes a pool of warmth and sincerity as he pleaded and she couldn’t do anything but nod.

“Promise.”

“Good because we have a game of tig to win.” And just like that something shifted and John was his usual self again.

Clara didn’t know how he did it because for her, her mind was still racing and her heart still breaking for poor Lucy Saxon who still waited for her next command, alone.

She allowed John to take her hand and tried her best to shake it from her brain as John instructed, trusting that he would help.

“Ah so you aren’t doing a Rory then.” Clara joked, her voice still a little croaky as she forced it up her throat.

“A Rory?”

“He snuck up on us earlier, convinced us he wasn’t on before getting Amy and sprinting off.” John led her further through the forest upstream, the sound of the water getting louder.

“Ah a solid technique, I taught him everything he knows.”

“Sure you did.” Clara said unconvinced.

Just before them was a waterfall, only small but big enough to make quite a noise as the water hammered into the pool below. Different layers allowed the water to cascade down until eventually reaching a steep drop sending splashes of cool water to the surrounding areas.

Green moss covered the smooth, black rocks as if it were a blanket and light shone down like a halo through the trees granting visitors access to heaven.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a brilliant, strategic hiding spot.”

“You’re too competitive.”

“You’ve got your head in the clouds.”

They sparred back and forth edging a little closer each time to the point where Clara could feel the heat radiating from his chest and hear the soft thump of his heart.

John seemed to be about to say something or possibly about to lean in closer before ragged panting popped the bubble.

“John, John!” Luke sped round the corner, Sonic on his heels, “Amy’s on and I think she’s out for blood-” The teenager stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Clara.

“Oh uh hi Clara, hi.” He finished off with a little wave that he silently cursed himself for.

“Hi Luke,” Clara smiled softly.

Maybe Rory wasn’t joking earlier.

Maybe Amy wasn’t either.

Nope- Not thinking about _that_ today.

John strode up to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, not so discreetly whispering into his ear. “Smooth little man, smooth.” Which caused a crimson blush to creep up Luke’s neck to the tips of his ears.

He was luckily saved by the arrival of a terrified Rory.

“I may have angered the beast.” Rory’s face was a scarlet red, not because he was blushing like Luke but because he was seriously out of breath and seriously scared of his wife.

“Stand back, I know how this works, you pretend Amy’s on and then get one of us. I’m right, aren’t I?” She looked up to John as if for reassurance though she isn’t sure why.

She also isn’t sure why the smile he gave her filled her to the brim with a sense of pride, as if a thousand burning suns had been poured from the crown of her head to the bottom of her toes, warming her through and harshly burning her at the same time.

“Trust me, she’s on, can’t you hear the snarling and growling?” Rory did look terrified (even whilst making snide, sarcastic remarks) and as a logical person Clara tended to connect the dots in a straight line; which led to the conclusion that Amy was indeed on and out for blood.

The small group continued to cower in fear for any flash of red appearing amongst the trees. She seemed to be toying with them. A small part of Clara was praying Rory would be the sacrifice but she wasn’t that naive.

When Amy finally emerged, she did so from behind. A tactical war had been waged by Rory and it was clear who would finish it and who would come out on top.

Amy flung herself at John with an animalistic howl, wrapping her legs around his middle and her arms around his neck, almost a piggyback but more of an assassination attempt, as she proclaimed loudly that he was on.

Luke and Rory were quick to escape as practised hands at this ridiculous game.

Clara was not so lucky.

She’d been on the floor with Sonic, giving him some rightfully earned attention and was currently mentally kicking herself for shrugging of John’s sing-song warning ( _“If she comes you won’t be able to get away quick enough”_ ).

Amy untangled herself quickly and, with her brief period of immunity, scampered off, pausing only briefly to wink at Clara who was still trying to untangle her limbs and escape Sonic’s paws that were now holding her in place. _Traitor_ her brain hissed almost jokingly.

Thats when she heard the low whistle escape John as he circled her like a vulture before crouching by her head and giving Sonic’s head a pat.

“Hmm if only someone had warned you not to let your guard down… oh wait- I did!” He brought his hand to his chest in mock surprise and a wave of irritation crashed through Clara at his smug attitude.

“Well, I consider this cheating.” She gestured to Sonic pinning her down. “You planned this.”

“Please this is better than anything I could have planned.” There was a period of silence as Clara (still on her back) blushed a light pink and John’s mouth opened and closed as if he were hunting for breath realising what he had said. “I just meant-”

“No I know.” They continued to awkwardly talk across from each other before John finally called Sonic off, who was wagging his tail very hard as if he understood what he was doing with two of his favourite humans very well.

“I’m willing to strike you a deal.”

“How benevolent of you.” Clara raised an eyebrow.

“Yes I know I’m so very charitable, they nominated me for a Nobel Peace prize purely for this moment.” He grinned at her clearly thinking how funny he was and Clara internally refused to laugh.

Well she laughed a little.

“What do you think of theme parks?” Whatever she had been expecting it was not this.

“Hate them. Nothing worse, why would you subject yourself to that kind of terror and danger willingly?” A sly grin spread across his face.

“Oh I think you’re a bit of a chicken.”

“No I’m just not as insane as you are.”

“Adventurous you mean.”

“Same thing.”

They stared at each other defiantly before John began to speak, creating a dramatic air as he did so. He was rather theatric.

“Right now, Harry will have annoyed my Aunt Sarah badly enough that she’ll be begging my father to let us return home so she can sleep off her aggravation, he’ll give in, in about oh lets say three minutes.” He looked at his watch as if he were actually calculating something.

“In less than ten seconds I can make sure you’re on.” For effect he stepped even closer and placed his hands on each of her shoulders before clarifying with a wink, “This doesn’t make you on, this is just my security.”

“Get to the point John.” Clara huffed.

“Shush. We have a little tradition when playing tig, it goes all the way back to our days at school. When the game ends- officially- the person who is on has to streak for the victors.” Clara opened her mouth in protest but he brought his finger to her lips instead and suddenly she was too nervous to say anything ever again.

“I’m willing to offer you an out. Agree to go to Hedgewick's World of Wonders with me and I’ll be on when my father calls us back.” The sly grin turned up his face again as he leaned into her ear. “Either way it’s a win win for me.”

Clara gawped at him for a good thirty seconds before she realised that time was ticking.

The other players were well and truly away so there was no chance of winning even if she said no.

Rules of engagement meant she couldn’t immediately get him back and he was too fast to catch.

She had her options.

Terror or shame.

A steely look entered her eyes as she met his gaze, the distance between their heights never feeling so small.

“Deal.” She offered her hand, only slightly disappointed by his lack of surprise.

“No taksie backsies.” She nodded her head in agreement, already the regret seeping into her pores and clinging to her bones.

—————————————————————————

When the game came to a close, almost to the second John predicted it would, they trooped back up to the house, the thoughts of tv, pyjamas and bed prematurely warming Clara through.

She found herself sandwiched between Amy and Rory, almost as a buffer or some form of protection for Rory.

She knew they were only joking.

She could sense the love between them and knew that they enjoyed this playful act they had going on and not for the first time Clara found herself mildly jealous of their comforting relationship.

As she watched John continue to frolic (for lack of a better term) through the fields with Luke and Sonic at his heels, she couldn’t help but giggle at his upcoming fate, that for some reason he wasn’t dreading.

At all.

Now wasn’t the time to think about how she wasn’t dreading it either.

“What’s so funny?” Rory asked her with a quizzical look.

“Oh well this is the first time I’ll be witnessing your ‘tradition’” she put the word tradition in air quotes as she said it because surely it couldn’t be that much of an occurrence. The more she thought about it the more she considered that it was actually quite a strange and sometimes unachievable tradition.

“What little tradition?” Rory looked to Amy as if he were missing something.

“What did he tell you?” Amy brought her finger and thumb up to the bridge of her nose in frustration already anticipating something was coming, she was ten steps ahead of Rory who was still confused. Clara was really properly nervous at what was coming next.

“Who?” Clara knew the answer.

“The Doctor of course!”

“Well he said whoever was on at the end had to strip and streak across the grounds in front of everyone…Am I missing something?” Rory started chuckling which soon turned into an actual laugh.

“What deal did you make with him?” Amy was trying to hide the upwards curve of her mouth behind her hand-badly. She knew from experience exactly what lengths John could go to just to get his own way.

“How did you know there was a deal?” They both just looked at her rather than replying. “He said if I agreed to go to Hedgewick's World of Wonders with him- which I’m frankly not looking forward to- he’d be on at the end of the game.” This was the point where Amy snorted.

“Clara this is important: did he make you say no taksie backsies?” Rory, now slightly mellowed, managed to gasp out, to which Clara could only mutely nod.

“Oh that absolute git, he’s still such a kid- rule number one Clara, the Doctor lies. We don’t have a streaking tradition, you got played.” Amy was howling at this point. Clara was not.

“OH MY STARS! You absolute bastard!” She screeched at him across the field and his floppy-haired head popped up.

“Did you figure it out then?” He grinned at her in a way that might have made her swoon had she not been about to kill him.

She set off into a sprint, forgetting her headache momentarily, chasing him down until they were both breathless and red from a delightful concoction of running and laughter.

——————————————————————

“What do you think then?” Smith Sr’s gruff yet somehow pompous voice questioned his sister, as they walked side by side, Harry Saxon desperately trailing behind them like a lost puppy.

“You were right, they’d make a great match and they might even do it of their own accord. She’s pretty and funny and perfect in every way for him.” Sarah’s brother gave a stiff nod of his head as if it were high praise before she carried on.

“However there may be complications. The pair of them are stubborn and I don’t think they’ll take kindly to your meddling.” She gave him the look that she had perfected from childhood especially for him. “And for another thing how can you be so sure they will settle each other down? Knowing John he’ll have that girl gallivanting around the world with him rather than getting married and becoming you.” The elder John gave a large guffaw.

“All I’m saying is be careful, let them develop naturally, the two of them must already be suspicious of the new living arrangements never mind your constant need to find ways to throw them together, I mean was this walk really necessary? My head is pounding!” She gave him a stern look that if labelled would have to be known as ‘the Sarah Jane’.

“Luckily for you, the next outing won’t involve us. I slipped an envelope for five fast pass tickets to Hedgewick's World of Wonders under his door this morning, hopefully he’ll invite her along with Luke, Amy and Rory.” He said Rory’s name with unhidden disdain, still somehow personally offended at the ‘wasted potential’.

The duo carried on walking, watching with secretive smiles at the young pair in front who had shifted their chase into an almost wrestle, ending up with Clara on John’s back being carried the way back, her limbs wrapped securely around him as she pretended to strangle him in vengeance.

Her brother, for once, was right when it came to his son.

This girl was the ideal match for him and with a doubt they’d be society’s sweethearts.

Sarah Jane privately hoped that in the desperate bid for the perfect image that their hearts were considered in the process.

A wistful smile spread across her face as Clara relaxed into her position her head nestled into John’s shoulder, a familiar act for such a short period of knowing each other and John seemingly pulled her closer.

Sarah Jane didn’t think they’d admit it, but she suspected the bickering pair tended to like each other a lot more than they let on and was determined not to let her calculating, yet idiotic brother ruin it.

What she didn’t count on was the cruel, decidedly not idiotic brain of Harold Saxon who happened to have heard the entire conversation about their plans for John and Clara.

With a malicious glint in his eye, he pulled Lucy close (somehow she was still a willing coconspirator despite her dismal position) and whispered into her ear.

“John settling down to inherit everything as daddy intended? That just won’t do.” He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek whilst simultaneously gripping her hip tightly, harshly, any sign of pain now silent.

“What are you thinking Harry?” She crooned into his ear, always faithful even in despair.

“I’m thinking, my dear, that I put the effort in with _everything_ whilst he swans about with it all handed to him on a plate.” His eyes grew dark and unforgiving as he glared daggers into the back of his cousin who was blessed with a life of power and wealth and couldn’t even pretend to be grateful for it.

“And I’m thinking that it’s about time I show the world exactly what he is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so yes this took forever to update, yes it probably wasn't worth it, yes the chapters are getting so much longer cause I actually considered the idea of writing actual length chapters rather than whatever I could be bothered to come up with.  
> Either way despite my inconsistencies I hope anyone who actually managed to get past lets say the first 3? chapters enjoyed this one and also you deserve a medal  
> Any comments are greatly appreciated!


	8. Shoot The Slitheen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group go on a day trip to Hedgewick's World of Wonders and help Clara conquer her fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some little warnings I wanted to add in:  
> There is some references to infertility at the end, it is along the same lines as the show but if that is something you struggle with, feel free to ignore this chapter  
> Also bit of swearing but it's justifiable

“I hate you.” She hissed at him, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as if it could make the upcoming incline magically disappear. A small ragged breath left her tiny frame as the padded barrier came down around her shoulders, penning her in and taking away her ability to escape.

“No you don’t.” He was laughing at her, completely unbothered and relaxed, clearly _excited_ for the upcoming torture.

“Yes I really d-ahhhhhhhhh!” The rest of that sentence was cut off by a high pitched shriek as Clara Oswald was jettisoned off and up.

———————————

_Four hours earlier…_

“I call shotgun!” The Scottish girl cried only half way out the door, her feet crunching into the gravel as she raced to the front seat of the Tardis.

Everyone seemed to be looking forward to this. Everyone except Clara that is.

It was the Sunday of a decidedly long weekend and rather than getting one singular lie in- that she hadn’t had on the Friday (when a makeup team had been pawing at her from the break of dawn) or the Saturday (when she was forced into a walk that led to this mess)- Clara was instead waking up bright and early for the two hour drive to Hedgewick's World of Wonders.

She had known it was coming of course, she’d been the one who agreed to go after all. ‘ _Tricked more like it_ ’ that same nagging voice spoke and for once she couldn’t bring herself to disagree with it: she was absolutely tricked.

However a deal is a deal and Clara Oswald never backed out of a deal.

That didn’t mean she had to enjoy it though and she certainly wasn’t going to.

She had been goaded out of her room by a less than delicate Amy with promises of breakfast with coffee on the road, possible revenge on John if she fancied and, of course, grievous bodily harm if she didn’t get a move on in the next ten minutes.

That was how she found herself here: shivering in the cold winter morning air, as dew drops clung to the grass and a misty fog covered the country landscape.

She’d wrapped up warm. Sort of. As far as she could with her limited ‘Linda-fied’ options.

Really that just translated to layers.

Her hands were rubbing furiously at her arms, but between the thick jacket and navy blazer she had on it was difficult to generate any extra heat.

The blue and white spotted dress was fairly short for a theme park and really not as insulating as she would like, but it allowed her to wear thick woollen tights and for that she was eternally grateful.

The length had absolutely nothing to do with the double take she was certain she saw John give her when she finally came down stairs.

Nothing at all.

John was currently giving Sonic a dramatic farewell in the doorway, complete with harrowing cries and tears clearly intended for his audience. His sunglasses were perched on top of his head because apparently it was a crime to drive without them even in January.

He had the keys to the car stuffed in his tweed jacket’s pocket so the rest of the rag tag group were stood desperately awaiting his arrival so they could climb into the car and have some semblance of warmth.

At this point, Rory was pulling a wooly hat further down his ears with his arms folded tightly across his chest, Luke was breathing puffs of visible, frosty air into the atmosphere and Clara was biting her tongue to stop herself calling to John to ‘wrap it up with the bloody dog’.

Luckily, she didn’t have to.

“For goodness sake Doctor, he’ll still be here when you get back and if he isn’t we can buy you a new one.” Amy wasn’t one for sentimentality, more harsh practicality.

“How can you be so heartless Pond? Can’t you see his little eyes melting into tears?” John’s own eyes seemed to be ‘melting into tears’ more so than Sonic’s but Clara didn’t think this was the best time to point that out.

“I wish I was melting but I think I might be freezing.” Rory muttered through chattering teeth.

“See that right there? That lack of compassion? That’s what makes you two perfectly suited to each other.” John teased before sighing dramatically and tossing the keys to Amy. “Start the engine and put the heating on, you can all sit and wait for me and my amazing driving skills in the nice, warm Tardis.” Amy caught the keys in one hand, immediately opening the car to the frostbitten group.

Around ten minutes later, after a further seven minutes of only-slightly-joking, tearful goodbyes; two minutes of Amy insulting said goodbyes and one minute of everyone begging John not to drive like a maniac, they were finally off in the newly repaired Tardis.

————————————

They stopped at a drive-thru, as promised, and Clara and John shared a knowing look in the rear view mirror as Luke ordered the same black coffee as her and John.

They then shared the same desperation not to laugh as he nearly spilt it all down himself the second Clara’s hand touched his to pass the drink he, noticeably, barely sipped.

It was sort of cute and Clara couldn’t help but feel really awful that she made him so uncomfortable. It only got worse as he pushed himself into the car door to provide her more room in her squished middle seat (‘ _Shortest legs Clara, it’s the rules of engagement_ ’ Rory had informed her before claiming the seat behind Amy). She desperately wanted to tell him it was ok but she didn’t quite know how without making him feel even more embarrassed that she had noticed his extra effort.

John’s subtle teasing, from exaggerated winks in the mirror to asking for their star signs in the most ridiculous fashion, only made things frankly worse and Clara was certain Luke was about to combust into a ball of embarrassed flames.

She wanted to swat John for being so insensitive but every time she raised her hand she either: feared for their lives due to his reckless driving, (she certainly wouldn’t be the reason for him losing control and killing them all) or she would meet his eyes again and she just couldn’t bring herself to do it when he looked at her like _that_.

Instead she eventually begged him to put his amazing playlist on (no, she was not beneath flattery). He did so only too willingly as he was not exactly adept at seeing when people weren’t being entirely honest about their compliments. Clara thought it was quite sweet how much he liked to believe the best in others and their intentions and made a mental note to be sincere with a later comment.

They carried on at a fast pace that Clara and Rory agreed _probably_ wasn’t legal whilst Amy, Luke and John whooped and hollered at the music and the speeding laws they were _probably_ breaking.

The closer they got to Hedgewick's World of Wonders the more Clara’s heart pounded. Each new sign marking the rapidly shortening distance acted as a nail in the coffin of her sanity.

She had never liked theme parks. Never. Not since she got lost on Blackpool beach and had to listen to the whirring of the rides on the pier get louder and louder, mocking her as she became more and more hopeless.

The swooping and twirling that sent air rushing past her ears was a memory locked firmly away in her brain.

It didn’t matter how many times she replayed her mum saying she would always find her.

It didn’t matter that she told herself it was ridiculous, that she was fully grown and could never be properly lost again.

It always seemed to haunt her and for some reason, that was the fault of all theme parks.

It hadn’t been such a problem until her mum passed. When she was alive, Clara could squeeze her mum’s hand if she was really, really scared and it was like the fear just evaporated from her body so she could soar and do things only a brave Clara could do.

Then she was sixteen and ditching school with decidedly bad influences just to make the _pain_ go away, even for a moment. They didn’t pity her like her old friends and they weren’t nauseatingly sympathetic like her teachers. If she had thought about it for more than a second back then, she would have realised they didn’t care about her at all and that really wasn’t the better way for a friendship to function. If she could change her mind at that age, she’d take sympathy any day of the week.

They’d gone back to Blackpool for the day and Clara had been forced on to the ‘Pepsi Max’.

However this time no one had held her hand to tell her it was ok and no brave Clara had appeared.

Instead she screamed and screamed for a mum that would never come, as she was thrown through endless loops and threw up in the toilets for an hour afterwards completely alone.

When Clara had emerged from the loos already embarrassed enough as it was she found that she had been abandoned by her ‘friends’ and had to call her dad to come get her with her tail between her legs, as salty tears poured down her face.

From then on she exclusively thought things through, she never let her guard down and she did not go to theme parks.

That’s why she felt that all too familiar, sickening feeling of bile rising in her throat as John pulled in through the colourful gates of Hedgewick's World of Wonders and parked the car, the hand brake screeching as he imitated ‘Poltergeist’ with a just as horrifying as the original movie (to Clara anyways):

“We’re hereeeeeee.”

———————————

The queue to get in had been fairly short since not many people wanted to come to a theme park in January and for that, Clara was furious. Well she would be if she could calm down her raging senses for just two minutes.

If they’d been stuck outside for at least an hour that would have massively reduced the time spent on rides. That was quality, prevention time that Clara had been cheated out of.

John had been hopping from foot to foot the entire time, eagerly anticipating what was beyond the metal barriers and cartoon figures saying ‘Welcome’.

Rory and Amy were stood to the side with Amy’s hands buried in Rory’s coat pockets for warmth, the pair also looking weirdly excited for what was coming.

Eventually, they got in and were hit with a wall of colour, a sharp contrast to the bleakness of winter they had grown accustomed to. It was pretty empty considering how busy it could get but the screams of delight still echoed around Clara, paired with the endless sound of things rushing past her and for a moment she felt like she was going to be sick again.

A large hand slipped into hers and without even thinking she squeezed tightly as if it had been her mum, a force of habit to calm the flurry of terror and nausea within her.

She looked up and saw John staring at her, his brow furrowed in concern but she didn’t say anything out of fear that opening her mouth would lead to her actually being sick.

Instead after a pause, he was the one who spoke.

“You weren’t kidding were you? You really don’t like theme parks.” He sounded guilty as he ran his spare hand through his already messy hair.

“How could you tell?” She eventually managed to croak.

“For starters, you’re white as a sheet, you didn’t pull away when I took your hand and, well, you sound like that.” She gave him a weak smile, still not letting go of his hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” He said with a sigh.

“A deals a deal.”

“Not when one person in the deal looks like they are a second before death and certainly not when it makes the other, roguishly handsome person feel incredibly guilty!”

In truth, Clara didn’t want them to know she was frightened especially not when they were all so brave about it. She had thought if she put on a brave face she could trick herself into not being scared, clearly it hadn’t worked on her or anyone else. She didn’t want to be seen as weak or a coward and she certainly didn’t want to spoil anyone else’s day; somehow she had managed to do both and it made the whole ordeal ten times worse.

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” She breathed out and he almost looked like he was going to believe her until a ride sped past them on a track above their heads and she let out a pitiful cry, a sound she didn’t even know she could make, and he shook his head.

“Jesus. No, no I’m not making you do this, come on we can go the others won’t mind, I can’t let you suffer here knowing it’s my fault.” He started to move ready to round up the rest of them, who were messing around at one of the carnival games at the entrance, when she pulled his hand back dragging him to face her.

“No. I can do this, I just need to get over my fear.” She was adamant she would not spoil this day, that would be worse than riding the biggest ride here.

“Clara I get that you’re trying to be brave but-”

“No. It’s ok I’m not trying, I can be. Let me be brave, we can start out slowly yeah?” She looked at him with her big, brown eyes, in a way her dad had always told her could get her anything she wanted in life and he seemed to be right. John sighed and broke his gaze from hers to look at their entwined hands.

They stayed there for a moment stock still until he let go. Her hand swung limply back to her side and she thought for a second he wasn’t going to give in.

“Fine. Wait here for a sec- if that’s ok?” She knew what he was really asking: _can you handle it?_

Clara gave a small nod which he sharply returned, his jaw still tight as he was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of staying though she knew he would.

She watched as he went over to Luke, Amy and Rory, gesturing wildly with his hands as he always seemed to when he spoke. They all seemed to be nodding at whatever he was saying and Clara internally cringed when Rory gave her a sympathetic look across courtyard entrance.

She quickly looked away to stare at the statue of a rocket ship blasting off, the flames created out of a water feature cascading into the fountain below it.

She heard a clap and saw John had finished as he patted Rory’s shoulders and swaggered his way back over to her.

“Right well I’ve packed that lot off onto the ‘adult’ rides, you and me are starting slowly.” He said.

“You don’t have to do that, you can go with them,” Clara somehow managed to feel more guilty than if they had turned round and gone home.

“Clara, answer this honestly, will you get on any of the rides at all if you are alone?”

“No.” She mumbled, shuffling her feet.

“Well then I’m coming with you. Come on there’s an old fashioned carousel that’s perfect for you to start with,” He offered his arm to her and she gratefully slipped her own through the crook. For once, Clara was ignoring the nagging thoughts about wether this seemed too ‘coupley’ and was simply grateful he was there at all, it didn’t really matter if people assumed they were a couple, did it?

“I do feel bad for Luke though, he’s got to be feeling like a bit of a third wheel with the old married couple,” Clara joked.

“I think he was more disappointed he wouldn’t be spending the day with you…you are aware of his little crush I’m assuming?” He waggled his eyebrows at her and again she refrained from swatting him.

“Painfully.”

“Speaking from years of experience as an awkward teenage boy, he’ll be over it soon enough, trust me. Though the betrayal of me taking you around may sting for a little while longer so you owe me.”

That time she did swat him.

“Ok ok I’m just teasing, he’ll be fine, he loves Amy and Rory.” Clara was happy to leave it there but she still could have sworn she heard him say: “he’d be a third wheel either way.”

———————————

They arrived at the carousel and Clara was almost shocked at how much of a work of art it was. There was ornate paintings along the roof showing Victorian characters at fairs and parks and picnics all laughing in sunny colour. Bulbs lit up the roof in strips right the way around making the whole place shine while majestic, painted horses stood primed as if they were ready to sprint off that very minute.

Clara was in awe taking in the sight of all the colours and for once didn’t feel so overwhelmed but more stunned.

In his usual fashion, John was scampering across the platform inspecting the horses’ names to find the most suitable candidate clearly unfazed by the detail of it all.

“Ready?” He asked her, his eyes bright with excitement. For some reason she was able to return the same brightness.

“Yup.” She popped the ‘p’ taking his outstretched hand as he guided her to the horses that passed his impromptu inspection.

“Arthur and Zygon?” She pulled a face. “Bit unique.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Arthur!” He cried as he helped her clamber on to the pastel red horse named ‘Zygon’. The white saddle matched the angelic, white horse Arthur perfectly.

“I think you know perfectly well which name I’m referring to.” She giggled as his limbs attempted to help him onto the other horse rather hopelessly.

It was surprisingly comfortable up here and she wasn’t too alarmed, though considering they hadn’t even started moving yet she didn’t have a lot of hope or belief in herself stashed away.

She gripped the gold, spiral bar in front of her as the classic carnival music began playing and she was steadily lifted up and back down again. The ride groaned as it began building its way up to faster speeds.

Clara felt almost ridiculous looking at the albeit small assembled crowd of parents watching their little ones grip the same bars in front of their own horse, but when she turned to see John lazily lolling on his horse as the pace picked up she couldn’t help but laugh.

It wasn’t terrible. It was faster than she had expected but overall it was quite enjoyable. Atfirst her breath had been shallow and she honestly believed her chest was going to cave in but ever so slowly it seemed to release as if a pressure had been gradually removed. She felt her whole body shift into a calmer feeling and almost beamed at that simple fact alone.

It wasn’t a miracle cure and she certainly couldn’t do it without someone like John present but for once in her life Clara felt relaxed and _free_.

At some point John had taken his phone out and snapped a picture of her grinning on the horse- how he was comfortable with letting go of the bar at all she could never understand.

She would have to see that photo later, it wasn’t very often that Clara Oswald let go and she’d quite like to treasure that memory.

Her feet were unsteady as they clambered off and she gripped on to him for support, the tweed scratchy between her fingers in a way that shouldn’t have made her feel as safe as it did.

They put a bit of distance between them and the ride and John stopped her, his hands on her shoulders, a beaming grin on his face.

“So….”

“I loved it!” She squealed and they burst out laughing, “It was actually really fun, so thank you.”

“Anytime. Right so guess you’re ready for that one now then,” he gestured to a massive yellow coaster behind him with three loops and a drop that would surely kill. She felt her mouth fall into a small ‘o’ and nearly asked him if he was crazy before she saw his shoulders shaking with laughter.

“I’m kidding, I’m not a psychopath Clara, you’ve been on one tiny ride it’s hardly a magical fix.”

She heaved a sigh of relief, releasing a breath that she hadn’t realised she was holding and could almost feel the colour come back into her cheeks.

“Right where to next sensei?”

“Ooh I like that: sensei, o master of the great arts, holder of all knowledge,” he gestured with his hands as if he could see the name in lights, sadly coming back to earth with a bump as she nudged him with her elbow, shaking her head softly.

“We could try the spacey zoomer?”

———————————

Clara Oswald almost felt on top of the world. She had managed ten rides in the hour they had been here and each one hadn’t filled her with total dread.

At some she had felt her nerve trickling away and almost gave up entirely; then she would feel John’s hand slip into hers without prompt and it was all ok again. He didn’t even have to ask, he somehow just knew and for that she was grateful.

If Clara was being truly honest she would have to admit she hadn’t felt this carefree in a very long time and she was quite frankly scared of the reason why she was able to be so now.

Luckily, one thing she didn’t have to be was honest all of the time and the less John knew the better.

The worst ride had decidedly been the 'Crash of the Byzantium’, it was one of those god awful dropper rides that lifts you higher and higher and somehow drops you even further until your stomach forgets its place in your body and finds itself in your mouth.

That was one ride Clara had plainly said she would never ride again no matter how it was marketed and John couldn’t blame her.

They were gearing up for bigger and bigger things but each time the prospect of the bigger rollercoasters were presented she would have an excuse at the ready or a ride she simply _had_ to try first.

John knew how to take a win and the fact that she was here at all was certainly a win.

They walked hand in hand through the park passing stalls selling every junk food imaginable from candy floss to burgers with an intoxicating smell. Some of the stalls, designed to look like old market stalls with brightly striped awnings, were selling souvenirs and others had carnival games for stuffed animal prizes.

Clara wasn’t sure when their hands had found each other and she wasn’t sure why they slotted together so nicely.

She couldn’t bring herself to let go. She convinced herself it was to prevent any awkwardness of the sudden action resulting in him realising that they had been holding hands this entire time. The ugly truth of enjoying something that felt forbidden was always vehemently denied by Clara, even in her own head. That was a special trick she only did a few times a day.

She continued to ignore the part of her that didn’t want to let go because it was simply safe and warm and the close distance allowed her to smell his cologne that really shouldn’t smell that amazing.

After all it could be completely platonic and Clara didn’t want to push the boundaries and ruin everything.

He brought her to one of the game stands called ‘Shoot the Slitheen’ and challenged her to a shootout. Despite having terrible aim, Clara was never one to back down and she took her inevitable loss graciously especially when she was handed the strange, green, alien toy plushy he had won.

She grinned at him as he beamed down at her and she had to strongly remind herself that _no she was not on a date_ and _no they don’t like each other like that_. She wished someone had told the grey haired man behind the counter that.

“Can I just say, you two make a lovely couple, simply marvellous.” The man whose tag only read Mr Copper clapped his hands together as their hands slipped from each other.

She felt her eyes go wide and her cheeks go red as John stammered and hopped from foot to foot.

“No we aren’t-”

“Not a couple.” They managed to say at the same time both reverting from the comfort they had established to extreme awkwardness at the flip of a switch. They both refused to look at each other as Clara was staring anywhere in the distance as if a great alien ship would fly down and wipe them out of their misery. Meanwhile John was staring open mouthed at the elderly man until he eventually spoke:

“No. No way, she’s too short and bossy and her nose is all funny,” Clara’s blush only worsened as she felt her now free hand fly up to her nose _it wasn’t funny…was it?_

John’s eyes widened further (if that was possible) as he realised what he had said. Quickly clamping his hand across his mouth to shut himself up, he finally looked at Clara apologetically to which she responded with an even more embarrassed shrug.

Mr Copper was now feeling as uncomfortable as them and had to turned a shade of crimson. He began apologising with intermittent “of course not’s” to backtrack his earlier statement until he realised he was fighting a losing battle and closed the flap to his stall to hide from them.

Clara and John stood alone, in an endless silence. With the disappearance of Mr Copper they were left in each others company feeling worse by the second.

“I panicked, I’m sorry you’re nose isn’t funny.” John was trying to dig a hole in the ground with his eyes.

“Right yeah that’s- that’s fine.” Clara officially wanted to die. “Wait you think I’m bossy?” Her brain was finally starting to function again properly and it was evident, by the horror on John’s face, it showed.

“Well-”

“Oh I see how it is.” She declared indignant.

“Hey, you try guiding a drunk Clara back to her room! You’re commanding enough sober but drunk you? Well you can’t blame me for that one!” They half heartedly glared at one another, a pregnant pause settling before the giggles began.

“As if he thought we were dating.” Clara howled.

“Yeah that’s likely.” John snorted in return.

If they each secretly thought it wouldn’t be so bad and felt an equally stinging pang of rejection that the other was so opposed, well, that’s no ones business but their own.

—————————————

“It all comes down to this then.” He stated gazing up.

“I don’t think I can do it.” Clara wrung her hands, needing something- _anything_ \- to do.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” He looked down at her a small smile on his face.

Clara breathed out and in on a cycle attempting to calm down her senses that were on the verge of an overload. In front of her was the smallest rollercoaster at Hedgewick's World of Wonders however it was of course still massive in comparison to all the other rides she’d attempted today and by far _worse_.

They’d agreed this was where they would stop as in John’s words Clara had done “more than enough for one day.

She’d felt invigorated for once, almost liberated from her own inhibitions, yet here she was nearly breaking into a cold sweat as her hands shook.

“We can always go to Natty Long Shoes’ Comical Castle?” He gestured with his thumb behind him to a funhouse/large castle fortress complete with its own moat.

Clara whirled round to face him rather than continuing to stare at the monstrosity in front of her.

“Dare me.” She said.

John gawped at her with bug eyes before nodding slowly and laughing slightly.

“Ok. I dare you.”

“No taksie backsies?” Clara cocked an eyebrow, referencing his earlier trick, to his amusement.

“No takes backsies.” He agreed.

She stashed her little red bag and her new ‘Slitheen’ plush toy into one of the rides cubby’s as their turn came up. Her heart hammered out of her chest beating a new rhythm of terror.

She didn’t know what sick part of her made her do this but it was like she had no choice. A challenge was set by the same brain that was scared.

Maybe she was broken? Maybe she had loads of different lives in her head and one of them was daring and brave and simply hadn’t sent the memo to the other Clara’s?

She would have continued to ponder that thought but the bored ride attendee was guiding her into her front seat- according to John it was a perk of the fast pass front row seats every time. She was struggling to see it as a perk.

Some small part of her wanted to blame John. It was completely her fault, he had suggested leaving and had given her plenty of opportunity to back out; yet here she was agreeing to her own personal nightmare. She knew she shouldn’t do it but it was easier to have an outlet for the sheer fear that burned in her.

“I hate you.” She hissed at him, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as if it could make the upcoming incline magically disappear. A small ragged breath left her tiny frame as the padded barrier came down around her shoulders, penning her in and taking away her ability to escape.

“No you don’t.” He was laughing at her, completely unbothered and relaxed, clearly _excited_ for the upcoming torture.

“Yes I really d-ahhhhhhhhh!” The rest of that sentence was cut off by a high pitched shriek as Clara Oswald was jettisoned off and up.

She heard the scream as it left her body rather than feeling it, at first she was confused where it came from until it registered that it was her.

Her hands clung to the shielding pads in front of her, knuckles turning white with effort.

John was howling next to her in joy, whooping and hollering as he was finally on a marginally enjoyable ride (for him anyways).

Clara was going to be sick. It would be just like Blackpool all over again. She’d be alone and frightened and abandoned and John would leave just like her mother and her friends. She’d feel the cool of the tiles on the bathroom floor, a harsh reality compared to the weightlessness that had seemed to come over her today.

She’d come back to earth, the joy of the day being sucked out by a vacuum leaving her an empty blackhole.

Always alone.

Tears pricked at her eyes and Clara had never felt more like her sixteen year old self, rebellious and grieving without the emotional capacity to handle both. The saltwater ran off her cheeks almost as quick as they came, the isolation crushing her.

Until something warm and safe and oh so familiar entered her hand and he was there. The ride had slowed as it jerked upwards preparing for its grand finale allowing John to see her and give her a reassuring smile. She _wasn’t_ alone. He hadn’t left her and Clara nearly cried out in relief.

As they steadied out onto the flat, he ran circles over her hand with his thumb as if he were writing in a language only they could understand.

“Are you ready?” He looked at her in that way, that soft way that could melt her and bring her back all at once. The drop was coming closer and closer but Clara easily managed to say “ _yes_ ”.

——————————

“You did it!”

“I did it!”

They jumped around like lunatics. An overwhelming sense of pride came over Clara and she wanted to burst with joy.

She leapt up, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close into a bear hug. His hands waved around aimlessly, always unsure of himself, until he finally relaxed and holding her close to him.

“Are you ok? No side effects?” John put his hands either side of her head tilting it this way and that way as if he were checking her over for a concussion.

“No I’m fine, I’m more than fine I’m brilliant!” She danced around again, she loved the sound of his laugh when she did that. “That’s the first time I’ve been able to do that in eight years.” A massive grin was plastered all over her face and she wouldn’t change it for a second.

———————————

They eventually met up with the others at one of the massive rides which Clara decided to pass on, she knew not to push her luck. She had to physically force John into the line though as he valiantly wanted to stay with her.

“Go on, there’s no need for you to be my knight in shining armour, go enjoy yourself I’ll wait down here.”

Eventually he conceded and headed off with Amy and Rory toward the three seater ride named ‘The Power of Three”. Clara shuddered to think of the speeds it would be going, no matter how many times she came she didn’t think she’d ever be ready for that.

At least now she didn’t leap out of her skin at every scream or whoosh of air that passed her ears, it was definitely progress and really she had John to thank for it. He had stood by her the whole day unlike her ‘friends’ all those years ago and she had no idea how to properly thank him.

But Clara Oswald was determined and she’d find a way.

Luke stood with her at the bottom as he too had a limit to what he could handle apparently the “endorphin rush was too high”. Clara wasn’t entirely sure about the technicalities.

She had her phone poised to snap a picture of the trio when they eventually came down. The pictures from today would last a lifetime, they had so many memories stored away, from John ramming a burger bigger than his head into his mouth to them having brain freeze from their slushies. Clara was so sublimely happy, her face couldn’t hide it and in all honesty she didn’t want to hide it; she wanted everyone to know just how much joy she felt.

Luke stood in silence next to her and she was running through her head possible non-confrontational, relaxed topics to talk about with him so he didn’t feel so awkward around her.

Instead he beat her to it.

“You like him don’t you?” Luke’s eyes met hers and her smile slipped. “John, I mean, well obviously John but ,you know, you do don’t you?” He was stammering and slipping and it reminded her so much of John her heart nearly swelled, but she couldn’t let it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She breathed.

“I think you do, the pair of you really aren’t very subtle,” He gave her a pointed look which she so desperately tried to avoid.

 _I think I liked it better when he was too afraid to speak to me;_ it was a slightly cruel thought but Clara was panicked.

“I asked him and he said no- but he was lying. He thinks I can’t tell but I know him well enough by now to see the signs, he forgets that I’m not a kid anymore.”

“He’ll always see you as a kid, it’s his job,” Clara patted his shoulder.

“And I’m guessing you’ll always use avoidance?” He smirked and she would be impressed if she wasn’t trying to stop herself from blushing with little success.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, I think I already know anyway; but I think my cousin really likes you, he doesn’t look at you like he looked at Rose.”

“How does he look at me then?” Clara’s heart pounded for an entirely different reason.

“If you can’t tell, I’m not sure you’re smart enough for him,” he teased her with a bump to the shoulder.

Clara’s brain was spinning. What had caused the sudden turn around in Luke? She didn’t know what prompted it and she wasn’t sure why he was telling her all of this.

She heard a familiar cry from the top of the ride and prepared for her picture, putting all thoughts of John and however he looked at her on the back burner for the moment.

She snapped the photo and inspected it with a self satisfied smile.

Rory and John were screaming with joy and terror whilst Amy still managed to look flawless whilst plummeting down.

She really did have to find out from Amy how she was always so photogenic, it was quite unfair.

The group all met back up and Luke simply smiled at Clara before going to John and giving him a light shove as if nothing had been said. As far as Clara was concerned she was happy to keep it that way.

———————————

They were finally wrapping up the day and leaving the park suitably tired but buzzing with giddiness. It was even quieter now with the sun beginning to set as nearly all the families with young children had headed home.

The near silence of the vibrant place created a sense of isolation, as if you were the only people in the world and the small group leaving felt it more strongly than most.

The park was bathed in an amber hue and Clara thought it had honestly never looked so beautiful. For a place that once caused her nothing but terror it was seemingly better than first anticipated.

She wouldn’t be telling John, but her mood had significantly risen when they were heading out of the park- she wasn’t completely over her fear just yet and she certainly couldn’t handle being here alone.

For Clara it was the simple sensation of being _found_. Theme parks were one of the ultimate spots for being lost and were tarnished with Clara’s own experience of it, but here with this group, with John, it wasn’t quite so bad. For the first time since she lost her mother, Clara Oswald had an understanding hand to hold and just like magic she wasn’t nearly as scared anymore.

Part of her never wanted to let that hand go.

The turnstiles let them through as they emerged back into reality away from Hedgewick's World of Wonders, all of them laughing at a joke Amy had made.

Clara was expecting a nice stroll back to the car.

Clara was going to be disappointed.

The minute they began walking back to the car a sea of paparazzi descended on them like a tidal wave, crushing them with big questions and even bigger cameras.

Luke instinctively shrunk into John’s side clearly used to this. John shielded him whilst also keeping his own head high looking forward as if they weren’t there.

Clara couldn’t help but notice how Amy and Rory did the same although Rory was much less cool about it and clearly wanted to say something to the intrusion of their privacy.

The questions they asked were far more personal than Clara had ever experienced. It was very rare for this kind of thing to happen to her; usually they would take a picture of whatever she was wearing every now and then and add it to a random page filled with other ‘celebrities’ they were judging.

Unlike John, she had never particularly been interested in massive scandals and wild parties so the papers had naturally assumed she was boring and left her alone. Her dad and Linda had set up interviews on special occasions like her graduation but even then those quiet sit-down affairs couldn’t compare to this hounding.

John had made the front page many times. They never seemed to get bored of him and the life he led. The past year, he had been particularly quiet since the death of Verity Smith so clearly they were gagging for an update on his latest escapades.

“John! John! How are you feeling?” One of them cried holding a recorder to his face, which he ignored.

“Amy! Rory! How are you liking New York?”

“Amy tell us about your life over there!”

“Can I get a quote?”

Clara was mostly managing to go unseen behind the ‘golden trio’ of the public eye until John decided to speed up the pace. He grabbed her hand not even turning around, pulling her along behind him so she could keep up. This movement sadly didn’t go unnoticed.

“John! Is this your new girlfriend?”

“Is this the official rebound from Rose Tyler?”

“Is that Clara Oswald?”

“What’s your name beautiful, don’t be shy!”

They began calling to her from where she tailed behind John and Clara felt bile rise in her throat. She didn’t know how to deal with this. She had always kept her head down, choosing to attend formal affairs rather rambunctious parties to avoid being a spectacle for the world. Experiencing the harassment that the Pond’s and John got so often she had never truly understood until now. She had judged along with the rest of the world because she hadn’t known.

“Give us a smile love, you’ll make page one if you’re a girlfriend!” The seedy man behind the lens started chortling as he leaned into his friend and whisper shouted: “Maybe page two if you’re just another quick shag.”

At this John wheeled round, coming mere inches away from the mans face as he loomed over him, his jaw set in a menacing way, his eyes alight with fury. Clara had never seen him so dark not even when she stumbled upon his mother’s book. He dropped her hand his fists balled so tight his knuckles burned white.

“Leave her alone.”

The man nodded backing off slightly at the veiled threat but Clara was almost certain John was still going to swing for him. In all honesty she almost let him.

Instead she placed her hand on his shoulder. Initially he flinched at her featherlight touch, but gradually she felt the tension physically drain from his body. He quickly accepted her outstretched hand again and near as damn dragged her to the car, Luke hurrying behind them.

With John’s clear message it was made plain who the new targets were. The assembled crowd reverted to Amy and Rory and began asking them questions again as they moved slightly slower than the other three, still maintaining their composure.

“Amy, what do you think of John’s girlfriend? Do you know anything?”

“Rory how does it feel being away from your friends and family when you’re in New York?”

“Amy are there any plans for children in the near future?” A tall woman with thin eyebrows almost hissed out to Amy, Clara turned recognising her from an interview she once gave to the paper ‘the Kovarian Chapter’.

Amy gave a small, mangled cry, almost crumpling into herself at the question. Rory coiled his arm around her waist and pulled her to the car. Her feet were so unsteady she nearly tripped but Rory just held her tighter.

John unlocked the doors, leading Clara to the passenger door, still holding her hand. He didn’t leave until he had made sure she was in. Luke clambered in behind her and John slammed the door for him.

He stalked round to the other side of the car, guiding his best friends into the back and getting in behind the wheel himself. He locked the doors as the crowd moved to the windows.

No one said a word as he sped off not caring if anyone dared get in his way as they left. It was clear the vultures understood this as none of them were brave enough to stand in front of or behind the car as he drove.

Clara recoiled into her seat, heart hammering at what had just happened. They had been merciless and unpitying as if she wasn’t a person but merely a character for them to prod with a stick for a reaction. In her entire time in society she had chosen to be a lesser member to leave the showboating to the likes of John who clearly loved it; yet here she was seeing first hand how much he didn’t love it and how much the prodding hurt.

Amy was sobbing into Rory’s chest from the middle seat, clinging to his shirt for dear life and Clara knew not to intrude. Whatever had caused this fiery woman to crack must be awful as her body heaved with every cry.

Rory stroked her hair quietly calming her down, pinning her to him as he repeated “I know, I know” over and over, a mantra that could have been for her or for him.

Clara snuck a glance at John from where she was, trying to remain small as if that would make the whole situation change. He gripped the wheel, his jaw set firmly again. His eyes were so focused on the road Clara thought he was going to burn a hole in the road.

She didn’t dare speak, allowing him his time and that continued for the whole journey.

Luke was keeping his head down on his phone, avoiding the situation next to him as Amy gradually moved from distraught to simply despondent. Her head was still resting on Rory but she showed no emotion, she was void.

————————————

Eventually, the car crunched over the gravel drive and came to a halt. Everyone inside was still silent and Clara had never wanted to be alone so badly. Luke wordlessly got out, most likely to seek Sarah Jane who was packing to leave later that night.

Rory tapped John on the shoulder, helping an abnormally quiet Amy out into the now even cooler evening air. She leant on him as they walked back into the house and Clara could almost swear it was as if she was wounded.

For the first time since they left she turned to look at John, who was laid back into the seat, his eyes shut looking so _tired_. Clara had often thought he seemed older than he was but in a more fantastically mythic way; now he looked weary as if he had been aged ten years in a day.

“I’m sorry.” He finally spoke.

“What for?”

“They shouldn’t have said those things to you, that’s my fault.” He opened his eyes turning to look at her. “I hate that they can do that, take one look and simply decided to run with a story not giving a flying fuck who they hurt in the process.”

Clara paused knowing he was hurting. For a man depicted as wild and spontaneous he always seemed to carry the world on his shoulders with no one to share the burden.

“It’s ok. There are worse things they could accuse me of after all,” she nudged him with her elbow, silently rejoicing at the fact that she got him to laugh.

“Too damn right there’s worse things,” He sniffed, “I’m a catch.” They laughed a little, only gently, considering the mood. Clara’s head continued to throb after the ordeal and she wondered if every minute with John Smith would lead to a headache.

“Will Amy be ok? She looked- well I’ve seen her in better shape.” John let out a sigh, placing his fingers and thumb at the bridge of his nose.

“Amy…Amy can’t have kids. She found out about a year ago now and it, god, it devastated them. Those two are the strongest people I know and their entire lives nearly dissolved because of it, they nearly lost each other.”

Clara felt awful. Hear heart simultaneously went out to them and broke for them. Two people so loving and wonderful shouldn’t be deprived of something like that.

“That reporter, _the Madam_ as they call her,” he nearly spat venom as he said her name. “Somehow found out about it three months after Amy did, probably a leak in the clinic or something, my Aunt Sarah had to use a lot of connections to get her to bury the story and my father paid through the nose for it, It’s one of the only good things he’s ever done.”

“He didn’t have to though? I mean Amy and Rory could have handled the money right? So he really did do a good thing without necessity.”

“Amy doesn’t know that the reporter knows, Rory couldn’t pay that woman off because Amy would see, she’s been through enough pain without knowing someone would do that to her. The story was buried obviously or else you’d know before now. It’s not because they’re ashamed, there’s nothing to be ashamed of after all, they just don’t need the world knowing and seeing the headlines calling you ‘barren’ or whatever cruel nickname they come up with would kill her.”

Clara nodded, wishing she could hug Amy for this hand she had been dealt whilst also imagining the sheer joy of slapping ‘the Madam’. For a first fight it would be a justifiable cause.

“Why did she ask her if she was having kids then? If she knows she can’t what’s the point?” Clara’s nose wrinkled in confusion.

“The fact that you can’t see the motive just proves that you’re a better person than most. she does it out of spite, Clara. She knows Amy doesn’t know she knows and she knows Rory has to pretend the same, she does it for a reaction because she is evil, she is a vicious woman and I wouldn’t wish her on anyone.” John had sat up at some point his hands still subconsciously gripping the wheel.

“Don’t mention this to them, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind you knowing but they don’t like to talk about it much, understandably.” His voice was weaker than she had ever heard.

“Of course not, I wouldn’t. Though I wish there was something I could do.”

“You don’t have to do anything.”

“No, but I want to.”

“Clara Oswald, always trying to make the world a better place,” he smirked a little and Clara found herself no longer annoyed at it as she was in the beginning but almost enticed.

“Well if I don’t, who will?” She half laughed and half sighed at the truth of the statement.

“You're preaching to the choir,” he paused for a moment thinking. “You said you liked baking soufflés.”

“You remember that?” Clara looked at him, touched that he could recall such a small thing. She tried not to giggle as he blushed softly just like Luke (it was very clear they were related).

  
“I may have seen the burnt remains of a fallen soufflé,” Clara groaned loudly as he laughed.

“There’s your answer though, Amy loves anything sweet, you could bake her a soufflé? Be soufflé girl.” He gave her a jokey nickname at the end, waving his hands as if it were on a billboard in front of him.

“You know John Smith, that isn’t an entirely bad idea.” She teased.

“You know Clara Oswald, I think you might be right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The majority of rides and the whole theme park are based on episodes as you could probably tell like the crash of the Byzantium  
> The two horses are based on the Zygon horse in the 50th and Arthur from 'the girl in the fireplace'
> 
> As I mentioned before, in this version of my own little reality these guys are kind of like celebrities, everyone is interested in like "society" so I hope that explains the paparazzi at the end just in case you thought it came out of no where
> 
> Someone mentioned wanting a possible one shot about Luke and John growing up which would allow me to look at everything before Clara came, would anyone else be interested in that because I want to write what you enjoy, assuming you enjoyed this (hopefully)  
> If there is anything you'd like to see please tell me so I can work it in. Right now I have plans to include Mickey further and Martha and Donna at some point but any characters you want to see I can include.  
> Please leave kudos or a comment if you enjoyed...even if you didn't actually just to be nice x


	9. Christmas Day in SmugTown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of a simple day out come back to haunt John and Clara, whilst someone else is working behind the scenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this took forever because well I don't really have excuse except it being a bit of a filler and rather difficult to get into but that's on me, sorry.  
> Hope you enjoy despite the wait x

John looked around at the once immaculate kitchen and was instead greeted with the image of a bomb site. Flour coated the marble countertops, eggs were cracked and leaking and he was ready to cry over spilt milk- literally.

At the centre of destruction, the eye of the storm, was the manic, short brunette who somehow looked so beautifully serene surrounded by her passion whilst simultaneously looking murderous. She brandished a wooden spoon in one hand, the other fisted as she gave a stern lecture to the soufflé in front of her.

“Now you are going to rise, yes rise. When I take you out, you are simply not going to sink or burn. You will be the most sublime soufflé the world has ever had the pleasure of meeting, do I make myself clear?” She blew air upwards in an attempt to move a piece of stray hair from her eyes, which only lead to further scowling when it didn’t work.

“Oh absolutely clear, I don’t think any soufflé will fail to rise again.” John teased her in his usual manner greatly anticipating her witty response. He really shouldn’t like this back and forth as much as he did.

That doesn’t mean he’s going to stop.

  
Rather than returning with a good retort, Clara wheeled round at breakneck speed, coming closer than ever before with killer's intent.

“Don’t. You. Dare. John Smith.” She almost hissed, the wooden spoon looking far less comical and decidedly more violent. He should be threatened he really should. Instead he found himself conflicted between being amused at the equivalent of a pixie shouting at him and fighting the urge to kiss her.

Not because he particularly wanted to kiss her, really, it was just so she’d stop telling him off that’s all, it was definitely not because John had thought about kissing her rather a lot lately. Not at all.

“Alright, alright you’re the boss.” He held his hands up in mock surrender, a mixture of relief and disappointment crashing over him as she turned to go.

At some point in their friendship (if that’s what you would choose to call it) Clara would have asked “Am I?”. Sadly for John she knew perfectly well that she was.

She turned to the modern oven behind her and gently slid her ‘baby' in, shutting the door with a tidy slam and a sigh of relief.

“Just like my mum used to make. It’s her soufflé.”

“How can it be her soufflé? I’m pretty sure you’re the one who destroyed the kitchen.” John joked.

“Because the soufflé isn’t the soufflé, the soufflé is the recipe.” She looked at him in almost wonder as if she had the secrets to the universe behind her caramel eyes and for just amount he truly believed she did.

“Let’s hope it’s a wonderful recipe then.”

“Don’t worry, it’s just the best.”

————————————

At some point, before the timer had rung to a very alert Clara, Aunt Sarah and Luke had packed up to return to Ealing for Monday morning. John was going to miss Luke. This visit had been short but sweet and he loved every minute he got to see his ‘little brother’ even if said ‘little brother’ was a teasing toe rag about a girl he totally didn’t fancy.

It was quite unfair. As the maturer, example setter (sort of) John wasn’t allowed to turn around and tease Luke mercilessly about his not so subtle crush on the same girl that John categorically did not like. The poor boy flamed red in her mere presence yet John was the one being harassed about how he stares at her and being told to “Stop drooling”.

It definitely didn’t matter that John was struggling to find reasons to blame Luke for being so infatuated. It also didn’t matter that if John set his pride aside for no more than a tenth of a second he would find he was on a very level playing field with his cousin.

They waved them off into the cool night air, the crescent moon and the shining stars lighting their path as they drove down the hill.

Amy hadn’t made it downstairs and despite Rory’s sincere apology, John had to hold Rory (and himself) back from punching Harold after he remarked, intentionally loudly, to Lucy how rude it was.

For the second time that night John could have kissed Clara Oswald when she said with hidden malice:

“You would know.” Before stalking back into the house to check on her masterpiece.

Rory excused himself back to his room only slightly barging into Harry’s shoulder as he went. If he bothered to listen to Lucy’s small cry of outrage for her husband, he certainly didn’t show it.

John scampered back through the house and down the stairs to the now modern kitchen in the victorian basement, almost whooping and hollering in glee. He rounded the corner nearly crashing into the island and was ready to pull Clara into a hug for her graceful handling of the situation, when he stopped short, staring at the scene in front of him.

Clara held in her hands the most perfectly risen chocolate soufflé John had ever seen- and he’d seen them in Michelin star restaurants. She moved gently as if she were carrying the most precious cargo in the entire universe and in a way, he supposed, she was.

She slid it onto the counter, a tear appearing in her eye as she prepared the powdered sugar.

She spun around, beaming at him as she squealed. He felt her fling herself into his arms and he momentarily lost all thoughts his brain had ever had as he tried to figure out where to put his hands. He finally settled, after some intense waving (that he always seemed to do around her), to pull her close and hope for the best.

She mumbled something into his chest which sparked him into releasing her.

“What was that?” He asked.

“I said, I’ve never made it like that before- ever.” She was almost hopping from foot to foot in the most delightfully adorable giddy way. “My mum could do it every time, but me? Well lets just say the poor dears weren’t _quite_ so lucky.”

She stopped for a minute and turned to the kitchen behind her.

“You.”

“What? What have I done now?” For someone who supposedly didn’t care, John was certainly panicked.

“You have a magic kitchen. This kitchen is bigger on the inside just to fit all of it’s soufflé making magic. This kitchen…oh my stars this kitchen, what have I done to it?!” She immediately grew a steady crimson from her neck to the tips of her ears and John tried desperately to hide his laugh from behind his hands as she ran around attempting to wipe and wash everything at once.

“I destroyed it! We have to clean it up!” John tried desperately hard not to notice how her eyes got even bigger in a panic or the way her cheeks flushed in that adorably cute way, after all they were friends now and friends don’t stare and think about how short the other friend’s dress is.

That’s not what friends do.

“Calm down,” he motioned with his hands as if he were calming a spooked horse before quickly dropping them back to his side when she looked at him thunderously. “Right first things first, a certain Scottish friend of ours is upstairs in desperate need of that soufflé.”

“Yeah you’re right.” Clara eventually started to breathe again as she realised why she had actually bothered to decimate the kitchen in the first place.

“I’ll make her and Rory a cup of tea, you get that on a tray and we can clean while we wait, ok?” He placed his hands on her shoulders bringing his face level to hers. He watched in relief as she allowed her panic to release back into the atmosphere.

He wasn’t entirely sure when he started getting protective, if that’s what he was. Something about seeing her like this pulled him in without much say in the matter. He wanted to pull her into a hug and hold her there until she said it was ok.

John had always been stubborn though. Even if she outright asked him his thoughts he’d lie. He’d never tell her he wanted to hold her when she was hurting. Just like he would absolutely never tell her, he secretly wanted to hold her even when she wasn’t.

The flick of the switch going up on the kettle snapped him out of his thoughts and he felt a hand fly to his face automatically, checking for a trace of heat in case he had been blushing.

He was never shy around girls. Closed off and ‘emotionally distant’, as Rose so eloquently put it, yes, but not shy. He really had to figure out what exactly Clara Oswald was doing to him.

He offered to carry the tray as they walked through the house but Clara simply swatted his hands away with a simple “I don’t think so chin boy”.

They would have to discuss her nickname choices after this.

John lightly rapped on the door and was quite surprised to see an even paler Amy through the small crack that opened.

“Is that chocolate cake?” Her voice was so small and weak in comparison to her usual harsh and loud tone he loved so much and he nearly enveloped her into a hug right there and then, but he knew it was best to wait with Amy.

When she had been hurt she usually withdrew as much as it pained him and Rory.

“It’s chocolate soufflé, I heard you had a sweet tooth.” Clara smiled slightly, the corners of her lips tilting up and John forced his gaze back to Amy just to stop the irritating urge to press his own lips to hers.

“Thanks.” Amy opened the door wider to accept the tray. She left it open as she carried it back to her bed, a clear invitation that they were allowed in.

As they entered John finally took it all in. Amy was burrowed under the duvet with a mountain of pillows in a pair of cupcake pyjamas, that she reserved for her worst moods, and her hair was wet after a bath or shower.

Her clothes from earlier were thrown over the armchair as if someone had attempted unsuccessfully to fold them. The air hung thick with steam from the bathroom, lingering condensation clinging to the window panes.

Rory was in the other armchair, his eyes were hollow and he looked tired. Just tired. As if he were defeated. They barely looked at each other as he sipped the tea she had handed him and she tasted Clara’s perfect soufflé.

John knew Rory had dealt with it all on his own and as much as he loved Amy, he knew she sometimes took a moment to step back and see the equal level of hurt that Rory was facing.

He strode over and gave Rory’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze which was met with a grateful smile.

Clara stood awkwardly in the door frame, unsure if she could enter fully.

“I’m assuming you know.” Amy spoke between spoonfuls.

“Um yeah, John said something…” Clara looked around as if she’d rather be anywhere else and John presumed she probably would.

“I gathered by this,” she gestured with her spoon to her dessert, “God this is…top level sympathy.” Amy joked with a weak smile. That was the small ice breaker Clara needed to shut the door and come in properly. She sat down on the ottoman at the end of the bed.

“Do you really like it?”

“It’s perfect, thank you. I’d say thanks to you too Doctor but knowing you, you had absolutely nothing to do with this.” Amy smirked, her old self filtering through much to the relief of everyone in the room.

“Excuse you Pond, but do you not remember that French cooking course I took? I am a fabulous cook.” He sniffed indignantly and tried not to swell with pride when Clara laughed.

“How could we possibly forget? When you got back from Paris you made nothing but omelettes for a month!” Rory eventually chimed in. He got up off of the armchair and slowly padded over to the bed, swiping a spoon to join his wife in devouring the soufflé.

“I didn’t hear you complaining!”

“That’s because you couldn’t hear us over the classical music you blasted while you made it.” Amy rolled her eyes, taking yet another spoonful as they all laughed.

Silence settled for a while before John knew he had to ask.

“Seriously Ponds, are you ok?”

Rory nodded not quite meeting his eye, but as he did so he wrapped his arm around Amy and in contrast to when they first found out, that was good enough for John.

“We will be.” Amy smiled a little before turning cold. “How that bitch knows how to push all of my buttons I’ll never know.” John saw Rory stiffen. He saw Clara’s eyes fly to his. He felt himself physically recoil as they all became unsure of what to say. Luckily, Amy continued.

“Everything we do they have to bloody talk about just because we were born ‘ _right_ ’, I’ll never understand it and I’ll never understand how they even have a market for it.”

“It was pretty strange,” Clara said. “That had never happened to me before, I mean I’d seen you all in the papers before,” she gave John a pointed look and he had the decency to blush a little. “But I’d never been hounded like that, I guess I wasn’t interesting enough for them.”

“I’d say congrats on getting noticed but it isn’t actually a good thing.” Rory looked so downtrodden it broke John’s heart. He knew his best friend hated the limelight they were thrust into, especially as once upon a time he had a choice.

For John and Amy there was no such choice. Their births were announced in the papers much like Clara’s probably was. Their first day at school was a media frenzy and every altercation they found themselves in wasn’t a fun story for the grandkids but a public scandal.

Rory’s dad Bryan was groundskeeper at their primary school and eventual boarding school. That’s how Rory had gotten a discount into their lives and John had gotten his first trowel- which he still treasures.

When he became friends with them it was assumed he’d sink into the background, unnoticed. Instead he was pictured with them and became the pauper with the prince and princess, ‘ _living above his means_ ’ as they branded him.

When they turned their friendship into a love triangle, simply because it was a slow week, every supposed reporter proclaimed John as the better match and superior in every way for publishing heiress Amelia Pond.

Rory took it to heart. Amy didn’t.

When she asked him out, the papers called him a home wrecker standing in the way of true love and when he believed them John broke one of their nosy cameras.

Their opinion of Rory only shifted when he married Amy because now it was the ‘childhood romance’ of the ages for every young girl to aspire to. It was a romance that transcended class, despite the class restriction being created by them in the first place.

They had just been kids on a playground, each hounded for a different, laughable reason.

John often wondered if Rory would do it all again if he had known what was in store for him. If he knew that for the majority of his young life he would be treated as an outsider, as lesser than.

Then he would see him look at Amy and knew that he definitely would, every time. He’d go through two thousand years of that if it meant he could be with her at the end.

John often wondered if he’d ever find a love like that.

Something worth waiting for.

———————————

They sat up for a while, laughing and joking to bring some life back into the Ponds who were gradually returning to normal after the earlier ordeal. At some point the tv had gone on as background noise, lulling Amy and Clara to sleep.

Amy had already been tucked into bed and was out cold as Rory removed the excess pillows from behind her head and the now empty tray from her lap.

Clara, on the other hand, was curled up in a little ball at the end of the bed, too tired to make the trip back to her own room. John sighed as he saw her burrow her way further into the duvet, he didn’t have the heart to wake her.

He leaned over, smoothing her dark hair away from her face, and scooped her up into his arms bridal style. Her small fist reached up to clutch his lapel and she nuzzled her face into his tweed jacket unconsciously as she continued to sleep, apparently unfazed by her change in location.

John suppressed the urge to beam at the fact that she felt so comfortable in his arms because after all she had no clue she was even in them never mind feeling safe or whatever he hoped for. Even if she did they were simply friends, that’s all. Friends shouldn’t get a shooting thrill from the base of their spine at the simple notion of their friend enjoying the feel of their arms, should they?

Instead a soft smile fell over his face as he looked down at her soft features, hazy with exhaustion.

“I’m gonna take her back to her room, you make sure you and Pond are ok,” he whispered to Rory.

Rory, in turn, looked at him a little skeptically.

“What?” John really didn’t have time for whatever parental lecture Rory wanted to bestow upon him today. For such a small person, Clara really was a bit of a dead weight and his arms were starting to ache.

“Nothing, I just think you’re stubborn that’s all.” Rory gave him a pointed look.

“Well that’s news to me.” John snorted voice thick with sarcasm.

“You have to admit it one day.” Rory called to John, who was currently half way out of the door, trying to remain a little quiet for the benefit of his sleeping wife.

John simply shut the door behind him, refusing, as per usual, to admit anything that he didn’t want to. If lying by omission was considered fully lying then John may well be the biggest liar on the planet. 

He carried Clara down the hallway back to her room, grumbling quietly as he went about reporters and Ponds and how he ‘doesn’t have to admit anything’. When he is good and ready he’ll admit what he likes but currently he had nothing to admit to. At all.

He found his inner musings disturbed as Clara shifted in his arms mumbling softly. It was as if a rather irritated storm had settled. A thousand thoughts that crashed like waves along a beach settled serene as a glassy lake by her mere presence being made known. It terrified him and calmed him all it once and for the first time today John wanted to put Clara in another room and just run and run and run if it meant he understood his own head for once.

He settled her into bed, fully clothed, closing the curtains and switching off lights as he went ignoring the sudden tension building in his shoulders that often occurred when he had to deal with anything real.

John Smith was not the type to stay. John Smith was not the type to feel so deeply it soothed him whilst also setting him alight from deep within his bones.

John Smith was not the type and that’s the way it would stay.

——————————

The next morning he dressed for breakfast swiftly, not bothering with a bowtie around his neck or wrist. The sun was shining despite the cold temperature and the birds greeted him happily with that usually annoying birdsong that, for some reason, didn’t bother him to day.

He had taken the next few days off work- which really only meant he didn’t have to sit in his room and make design plans, he never went into the office anyway- and he planned on spending all the time he could with the Ponds before they headed back to America.

If the day lead them to a movie binge or a dip in the pool that was for fate to decide, John’s favourite way of decision making.

As he wandered into the dining room with a wave and a cheery “Good morning!” He should have sensed that, of course, this feeling of open spontaneity and bliss was a trap. A trap that he had fallen for hook, line and sinker.

His father sat in his usual place with his usual morning paper, except this time there was a rather hefty stack of different papers that he either saved for later or avoided at all costs. He only read one paper at breakfast.

John was prepared to shrug it off until he saw the look of panic in Rory’s eyes from behind his china teacup and the anger in which Amy gripped her spoon. At this point he was getting a little suspicious.

Harry sat near Smith Sr, smug as ever, but something about today was as if it were Christmas Day in SmugTown. Lucy was as uninterested and blank as per so at least the world hadn’t gone totally insane.

He took his seat across from Clara who wouldn’t quite meet his eye. He naturally assumed that she was feeling awkward about him putting her to bed last night so he smiled brightly hoping to ease her embarrassment.

“ _John Smith aged twenty seven_ ,” his father read from the front page of his favourite broadsheet.

“I know my name and age Sir,” John quipped, hoping to lighten up the somber morning crowd. Judging by the shake of Amy’s head and Harry’s chuckle that was decidedly _at_ him and not _with_ him, John realised that might not be possible and quickly shut up.

“ _Pictured with new girlfriend Clara Oswald aged twenty four_.” John swallowed thickly. That wasn’t too bad. His father was always on at him to settle down and he was the one who invited Clara so it was his fault after all.

It was hardly terrible press considering past incidents.

“ _Bad boy bachelor turns shy society sweetheart rogue as he threatens camera man_.” There it was.

His father folded the paper with a sigh, picking up another and continuing to read.

“ _John Smith does it again: Photographer in terror_.”

He decided to give a few samples to the table. Some were rather too vulgar about Clara to mention.

“ _Heiress led down destructive path by John Smith_ ”

“ _John Smith, fiercely protective of possible new love?_ ”

John groaned into his eggs as Clara was blushing a furious crimson.

“Tell me John, what is so difficult about going out for the day without causing a media frenzy?” His father’s voice was stiff but not loud. The shouting would come later, when they were alone.

“They were harassing us, insulting Clara! I wasn’t just going to stand there a let them!” John’s voice was not as controlled as his father’s.

“You have made every front page of every paper that matters for apparently being ‘threatening'. One simple job: don’t rise to it.” Harold was suddenly grinning like a Cheshire cat and John was more than worried.

“If I might interject Uncle, in John’s defence it wasn’t every paper.” He saw the quizzical looks from everyone else at the table at his cousins attempt to help him but John knew better than that. There is no way in hell this would benefit him.

“The Kovarian Chapter didn’t report on it, I don’t believe.”

John Smith Senior was usually very forgiving when it came to his viper of a nephew but it was clear even he struggled to stomach that latest blow.

“That hardly seems important right now Harold.” Amy had gone back to staring at her plate firmly ignoring everyone else at the table. John could only assume what had been said about _her_ this morning.

“Come with me John it’s best if we take this somewhere more _private_. I’ll send for you momentarily Miss Oswald.” With that his father swept out of the room leaving Clara to choke on her tea in his wake.

John followed dutifully behind, only pausing to swipe Harry across the head like they used to do as kids, though he could only expect this time was a lot harder than it was back then.

As soon as the door shut behind him and the outside world was silenced the rant began.

John wasn’t entirely sure what was being said, he was only catching snippets here and there when he could be bothered to listen. He’d heard it all before, this would be nothing new.

“Just this once could you not embarrass your entire family! God your mother would be ashamed.” At this John sat up in his leather chair almost going as red in the face as his father.

“Ashamed? Ashamed! It’s only been a year I didn’t think you’d forget what she was like that quick!” His fists balled, knuckles burning a furious white.

“Don’t you dare take that tone with me!”

“I’ll take whatever tone I like, I know for a fact mother would have been proud of me, I defended the innocent if you want me to take it a more heroic route.” He stood up, now inches away from his father’s face. “You can’t pretend to like those vicious creatures.”

“No but I certainly don’t have to pretend to dislike scandal, which is all you know how to create!” The older man jabbed a finger into his chest.

“She’s your guest, you’d think you’d be pleased with me for once in my life!” John spread his arms wide as he simply couldn’t understand the way his father’s brain worked.

“Don’t worry John, the day I’m pleased with you the whole world will know.”

“And how’s that?”

“Because the pigs will be flying!”

John felt like he’d been sucker punched in the stomach as he sank back down into his chair. He knew his father viewed him as a disappointment, it was the kind of thing you could sense in the way he sighed or looked at him whenever he did something less than perfect (which was a lot). Hearing him say it? That was a different story, there’s no way he could brush it aside now, no way he could pretend that deep down he did love him.

In the end John Smith was a disappointment and he should have known.

“Go fetch Clara.” His father commanded with a lazy flick of his wrist as he sat down behind his desk. John didn’t bother arguing further.

He stalked into the dining room signalling to Clara to follow him who did so with little pause, clearly this room was as uncomfortable as the study and she was hedging her bets on which would be worse. In John’s opinion she chose wrong.

Amy and Rory had gotten their hands on a copy of the Kovarian Chapter, as Amy sat with a red pen cap in her mouth, doodling devil horns on its editor in chief ‘The Madame’s’ photograph.

Harry was enjoying himself immensely tucking into his breakfast, he seemed to be in such a good mood he’d even allowed Lucy biscuits with her tea. John hated that man.

He would never say it aloud because once upon a time they had been family by choice rather than just blood, but Harold Saxon certainly made himself a difficult person to love as John had come to find out.

Clara settled into the twin high-backed chair next to John, smoothing her skirt and fiddling with her hair as she did so as if she were attending an interview. John wanted to reach for her hand and settle her like he did in the theme park but at this point it seemed a little inappropriate considering the headlines.

“I must give you my most sincere apology Miss Oswald,” his father began and John almost snorted at the sheer unfairness of it all. The phrase ‘it takes two to tango’ sprang to mind but of course he was always the guilty party.

“I know you haven’t had much experience with the tabloids,” she shook her head numbly.

“Lucky for us we have had more than our fair share of run ins.” He looked pointedly at John who met his gaze, determined not to back down.

“The press department at our office will be dealing with it but they require your presence so I need the pair of you to head into London I hope that’s not an inconvenience?” John knew he wasn’t asking him so he didn’t even bother to reply.

—————————————

At his father’s insistence John was not driving (something about his movements needing to be controlled). Instead Clara had offered to call her own driver, Mickey. He was a funnyman with a cockney accent that John found rather endearing in comparison to his father’s harsh eye roll.

From the minute Mickey had opened his mouth to welcome Clara back, John had known it would be a long drive. His father hated conversing with ‘the help’ -another layer of his snobbery- but he especially hated overfamiliar ‘help’. It was extremely fortunate that Mickey wasn’t in his employment or the poor sod wouldn’t last five minutes.

The sleek, decidedly-not-blue car pulled up outside of Gallifrey Industries headquarters, a towering, glass skyscraper that crushed more dreams in corporate speak than the X-factor did per show.

His father swept out of the car barely acknowledging Mickey as he entered the building and strode over to the lift. John and Clara thanked the driver, who was waiting in the Smith’s private parking space, before following suit. They stood shoulder to shoulder behind the bald man a shared sense of solidarity keeping them afloat.

The lift dinged and Smith Sr entered pushing the closed button immediately. Everyone who worked there knew not to enter the lift at the same time as the boss, especially on days like this.

John hated coming here. He knew that everyone else knew he’d one day be in the top office his father currently sat in. He knew they all judged him for that fact; that they all thought he had everything handed to him on a plate. As far as they were concerned, he had never worked a day in his life. They never stopped to consider that he actually worked hard for his degree and doctorate in astrophysics.

To the people who would one day work for him, he was exactly what the papers portrayed him as.

The glass walls of the building made sure no distaste was hidden. However, that didn’t mean that they all magically stopped sucking up to him for one minute whenever he actually did show up. No, they were totally fine to do that.

To add insult to injury this was the only place with a literal shrine to his mother. A massive photo, fresh flowers and candles taunted him as he walked past, as if to say ‘ _she’s dead in case you forgot_ ’. It was the only photo his father allowed to stay hanging, but that of course was due to keeping up appearances. It’s clear as day that it caused his father as much pain as it causes him, anyone looking could see it in the way his eye twitched as they passed.

“Donna!” Smith Sr barked to his ginger personal assistant. She stood up and calmly strode towards him without even a hint of a hurry. It was one of the many things John liked about her: no matter what mood her boss was in she did as she pleased unlike the others who scurried to meet his demands.

“Have you called the PR team?” He was so demanding sometimes.

  
“They’re already in your office.” She replied cooly. To John, having Donna in your corner was one of the only bonuses to the job.

“Did you get those files to Clom Tech?”

“Shipped off last night with a first class stamp and a very harsh letter about providing the correct delivery times.” She ushered John and Clara into his father’s office, grinning slyly at John with an added wink over the top of Clara’s head. _Not her too_ John internally groaned.

“Did you get those pills from Dr Constantine?”

“Catch.” Donna tossed a rattling bottle of pills to Smith Sr with barely a second look. The older man opened it and took a small red pill.

“Right you two, take a seat we need to do some damage control. At this point the world is suspicious of your relationship- that you don’t have, yes I know John there’s no need to look so outraged.” He shook his head as if he were bored. “Now I’m purely just suggesting here…” That usually meant whatever he said had to be done. “But what if, you didn’t deny it?”

Clara’s eyes bugged out of her head and John was certain that if the day kept giving her these surprises she was going to have a heart attack.

“I’m not saying to confirm it either no no, I’m simply saying you could just avoid it. This is pretty good press for the both of you, especially since Rose Tyler John, so let them speculate. It can’t hurt.” That’s what men like John Smith Senior would never understand: oh yes it very much could hurt.

—————————————

Donna had ushered them out of the office before John could physically maul his father and was dragging them to at least one hundred different pre-planned formal interviews. The majority were clearly orchestrated by his Aunt Sarah (who had been too late to stop anything from going out last night) and every single one of them keenly avoided the question of ‘are you dating’.

Not that it would have mattered of course. It was a clear message from ground control that they would have to tweak the truth a little if push came to shove. John wondered what Clara’s father thought of all of this. His own father was more than happy to sell him off if it meant a better image would be curated but surely Clara’s dad couldn’t think like that?

The reporters allowed John to tell his version of events with the most simpering faces as they awed over his ‘bravery’ and plug a charity that Donna had picked out. In return they got a few details about his ‘personal life’ that he couldn’t believe they were actually interested in, yet here they were frothing at the mouth to know his favourite colour.

Really, he’d had more interesting first dates.

Overall it wasn’t the worst amount of clean up he’s had to do. The press conference after the limo incident was certainly the worst.

He just couldn’t come to terms with the need to lie (or ‘withhold information’ as his father preferred to call it). All it would lead to was awkwardness between him and Clara and a false idea amongst the tabloids, who deal with enough lies as it it. Besides it’s not like this was some magical fix to all of Smith Sr’s problems; they couldn’t smile and nod and somehow turn John into the dream son through the power of fake love.

Really it was absurd and quite frankly the worst idea his father’s had yet- coming from the man who had accidentally bought a cow that was the only source of income for an entire village whilst drunk, that was saying something.

Clara barely spoke in the meetings unless she was spoken to and she didn’t speak at all as they trailed behind Donna. John couldn’t help but panic as he wondered if it was his fault. Was she angry that he had gotten her into this mess? Was she shy because everyone thought they were dating? Or was she keeping her distance to let him know that of course she didn’t want to date him?

He couldn’t blame her of course, but some small part of him that had been tucked away for quite a long time, the part that hoped, rather wished she did.

“Right, that’s this weeks incident handled. Personally, I thought you were going to set a record and not do something stupid for me to have to deal with yet here we are.” She flashed him a wicked grin, sarcasm flowing from her like a fountain.

“Ah well if I hadn’t I wouldn’t have gotten to see your lovely face.” He booped her on the nose and regretted immediately.

“Oi I’ll have none of that. I will, however, have dinner at that flash new restaurant ‘Gravity’, on the your card of course.” She knew how to get what she wanted.

“Tell you what, we’ll go and you can order the biggest lobster on the menu but I’m putting it on the company card, how’s that sound?” He leaned back against the walls of the lift as Donna pressed the button for the ground floor.

“Even better.” She winked, flashing him the card that she had already swiped from his father’s desk. That woman was so lucky this place couldn’t run without her.

————————————

They ended up sat at a table for four after John had invited Mickey along for dinner (it really didn’t seem fair to have him drive them there and then not invite him in). The table was slightly difficult to get but due to Donna’s reputation and a harshly worded “Don’t mess with me sunshine,” the host was more than happy to squeeze them in.

The company was fine and John was more than happy to put Donna and Mickey in a room together again just to watch how funny it would be as it got louder and louder. However the slight dampener to the whole mood was Clara’s stoic silence. Her face barely moved the whole time they were sat and John was growing steadily more concerned.

She hadn’t grinned at the sight of Donna with her ginormous lobster nor had she shown any disdain when the blonde, Australian waitress (Astrid he thinks her name was, he wasn’t paying too much attention) openly flirted with him in front of them all much to Donna’s disgust and Mickey’s overwhelming respect. John tried not to be stung by her lack of reaction, he had no reason to be after all…but again that small flash of hope that she could have felt something, anything, lit up within him and he was growing more scared by the second over every change Clara Oswald had caused in him.

When they paid the bill and returned to the car to pick up his father she had only said the smallest of ‘thank yous’ to the staff out of politeness. Not once did she look up at him with those big eyes that so often spoke for her. If she could just look at him that would set him at ease.

John was in agony over what to do. Screaming and shouting he could do, an intense debate he could do, flirting to a certain extent he could do, but not the silent treatment! His mother had often blamed his need for an audience on being an only child and John didn’t have the heart to correct her.

In actual fact, he found it was the inexplicable loneliness that came in silence, he just couldn’t stand it. When he was alone he often spoke out loud just to stave of the quiet.

Now it was even worse because Clara was the one being silent and he couldn’t understand why.

If John knew the whirlwind currently running through Clara’s own mind he may have been relieved or maybe even more panicked, it’s quite hard to tell. However Clara wasn’t allowing her face to betray her thoughts today and he would have to worry in the privacy of his own head much like she was in hers.

—————————————————

“Thank you for the tip off, we greatly appreciate it.”

In a small restaurant in the outskirts of the centre London, classy enough to be upmarket but far enough to be discreet, the two editors for the Kovarian Chapter and the Great Intelligence sat down to dine with Mr Saxon, their greatest inside source for knowledge.

“Well I am of course a patron of the arts, I think it’s our duty to promote music, art and _writing_.” Harold raised an eyebrow, attempting to conceal the smirk from behind his wine glass.

“Even if such _writing_ devastates your own cousin?” The Madam was not afraid to openly smirk.

“Especially then.”

The Italian restaurant was clean cut and white, a stark contrast to the deals being made in the only darkened corner of the place. A few people sat in the currently sparse space but it seemed that such a malevolent force generated from that one lonely table, no one but the servers ventured nearer.

“Whilst I am more than happy to deliver for my avid readers, I am rather curious as to what you hope to achieve? The beady eyed, callous Walter Simeon asked.

He was a strange man, Harry often thought. So exceedingly wealthy yet he barely spent a penny. No luxurious houses or cars beyond what he needed, no extravagant holidays, no family or friends. Many had described him as a modern day Scrooge and Harry could certainly see the Victorian Values of the penny pinching miser.

“You see,” he swilled his wine around his mouth, always calculating his next sentence, his next move. “I’m playing a long game. There’s going to come a point where you, Madam, will ignore a certain requirement from your hush money and where you, Mr Simeon, will start toying with the truth a little regarding my dear, _dear_ cousin. When that time comes, I will be ready.”

Harry was an ambitious man. Some people viewed it as an attractive quality, something that success was dependent upon. Others saw it as cruel, especially the kind that came from Harry’s hand, but really would it not make an impressive feature on his CV when he finally gets a chance at CEO?

It just wasn’t fair that’s all, that the simple act of being born a little to the left on the line of succession left him out in the cold with little chance of success. It just wasn’t fair that the resentment that had festered within him like an infected wound on his heart had led to the breakdown in his relationship with his cousin.

This was of course not a sentimentality issue, no, what was unfair about that, was how it reduced his chances of climbing the ranks once his Uncle was out of the way because there was no chance John would stand aside. Of course not, he was just too proud, too full of it, too holier than thou with his carefree attitude and inability to act proper.

Honestly, he called Harry a snob but Harry understood how the world worked, he always had. Men like him would rise to the top with women like Lucy to serve at his side. Men like John would amount to nothing without it being handed to him in the first place and that was exactly what had happened, and it just wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t his fault that there was a hierarchy even though John acted as if it were. It was John’s fault he acted like there wasn’t to appear likeable to the press…yes Harry knew his game and would certainly put an end to it. By winning.

“I see…” The Madam eventually spoke leaning back into her chair as Simeon leaned closer to Harry with a grin that would be sickening to anyone not at this table.

“What exactly do you need us to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment or Kudos if you liked it, I check my email religiously like a crazy person for them so trust me it is noticed!
> 
> 1) I feel really bad about making the Master the bad guy purely because I've gotten into Life on Mars and I'm struggling to see past Sam Tyler but I must get over that (side note on my side note, there's a new season coming and I have never been more excited.)
> 
> 2) Quick question that I'd love to hear opinions on, do you think Clara would still have been interested in Danny Pink if eleven had never regenerated, purely because he'd still be flirty and touchy like a boyfriend so would she have looked elsewhere or was it inevitable? 
> 
> 3) Is there anything you want to see like as an individual chapter? I may have a few flashbacks in the work focusing on some minor characters this far (look at me talking as if I'm a mastermind with a huge following, allow me to live in my bubble please it really helps with the process or something)


	10. Foundation for the Elderly Cats and Dogs Holiday Fund

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara makes it her mission to find out more about John, starting with one Rose Tyler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops this took a while. But I made up for it with stargazing fluff (hopefully?)

It wasn’t that Clara didn’t want to speak to him, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was, she simply couldn’t. Every time she looked at him it was a stark reminder of everything the tabloids had printed and how ridiculous it was that _the_ John Smith, society’s darling and all around dreamboat, could possibly be interested in her.

At first she was more than happy to focus on the awful things they had written; the insults about her that would make her mum spin in her grave. Rather than looking at the suddenly much bigger issue, she turned her attention to the massive divide in the press who couldn’t decide if they pitied her for being the next girl to fall for John or outright hated her for breathing in his general vicinity.

She chose to be hurt by the names they called her and the judgement they passed because it was so much easier than wondering if it was true. If all of it was true, even her supposed interest in John which they claimed she had. The interest that had her confused on where exactly she stood.

The more she allowed the thoughts to run wild in her brain the more she realised she just might be interested if she allowed herself for a single second.

Further thinking eventually led her to realising John would never be interested and for good reason too.  
One look at any of the front pages could tell her exactly why he would never…could never be interested.

That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Just in case she didn’t quite get the message the universe was sending, it made sure to add a little bit of salt to her newly formed wound. From now on, if asked, she couldn’t even deny they were dating. She’d become known for being John Smith’s biggest downgrade without ever actually getting to date him. As far as she was concerned it was just tad unfair.

Without even realising it, Clara had a new rule that formed over night: _Don’t fall in love_.

It didn’t matter how many times she had to say it, wether it took three times a day, she would learn that rule, keep it close to her heart and obey it.

John got off rather lightly in her opinion. Sure, they may have insinuated he was threatening but now Donna had put the ‘protective’ spin on the story every woman in Britain would be swooning and the tabloids would be lapping it up. Clara looked weak and feeble and pathetic in the shining light of his heroism. They weren’t even calling her the beautiful heroine to his dashing saviour.

She was just there.

She rang her dad’s number again, waiting for a response and dreading the sound of his and Linda’s sickening couples voicemail playing again. Luckily, he actually bothered to pick up this time.

“Ok so industrial espionage for your ‘security’ has somehow led to me splattered across the press and somehow involved with the most outlandish man to ever walk the earth.”

“Hello, and good evening to you too Clara.”

“Hi.” Clara deadpanned. She could not deal with whatever thinly veiled sarcasm he wished to share with her tonight. “Please do something. I don’t want to go along with this- this…Scheme!”

“Linda and I think it’s a rather good idea actually, you needed a greater presence in society.”

“Well perhaps I could have started the ‘Foundation for the Elderly Cats and Dogs Holiday Fund’ not become another in a long line of disposable heiresses! I’m sure Linda thinks it’s a great idea, this suits her perfectly!”

“Don’t be insufferable Clara, it doesn’t suit you.” He sighed and Clara could have strangled him.

“Well what do you expect me to do? Carry on like it’s true?”

“Why don’t you actually get to know him? He can’t be that bad and you’ve clearly already had some fun, I didn’t think I’d catch you going to a theme park again in this lifetime.” Clara could have sworn she heard Linda in the background say she knew all along Clara was making her fear up. Another person to add to the strangling list.

Clara was purposefully ignoring the part of her that knew John wasn’t that bad, he wasn’t that bad at all but it’s easier to dislike him than love him.

_Refer to rule one_ She almost hissed at herself.

“And what will getting to know him achieve? You wanted me to investigate their company to make sure it aligned with ours, you specifically mentioned it furthering my career within my own company yet here I am playing the corporate whore for you!”

“Clara! That’s enough. Get to know him and that’s an order.” He didn’t leave her much room to argue further as he hung up.

If he thought Clara getting to know John would help her prospects within a company thats board despised her very existence then she would know him inside out. No one set Clara Oswald a challenge she couldn’t complete and this was no exception.

————————————

_Phase One: Ask questions, subtly_

When she envisioned her master plan she somehow didn’t see herself failing at casually leaning against the kitchen island and asking what his favourite number was.

“Why on earth do you want to know that of all things?” He let out a throaty chuckle that definitely did not sound really nice and safe and just a tiny bit sexy-

_Nope_. _Not today Clara._

“Well what if a member of the press were to ask me and I your ‘not girlfriend’ couldn’t answer? I don’t want to look bad because you can’t supply the necessary information.”

She tried not to grimace as he took another bite of the disgusting concoction of fish fingers and custard.

“Well I’d hate to let the side down,” he gave her a small smirk and her stomach flipped- _side note in master plan: may need to see a doctor_ \- “It’s eleven.”

“Interesting choice, why might I ask?” This whole aloof casual thing did not look good on her.

“It’s my Birthday, 11th of December. I’m a Sagittarius…probably. ”

“Ah a Sagittarius we are a delightful breed.”

“Well come on then, what’s your favourite number?” The sarcastic jazz hands were not required in her master plan.

“Oh I’ve never really thought about it.”

“What was the point in asking me if it was something you’ve never even thought about!?” He laughed incredulously. “I mean I just thought you were really into numbers.”

“Thank you, that’s enough of that.” Clara didn’t especially want to discuss _what she was into_ with John Smith. “Following your logic I would say twenty three, that’s my birthday- in November.”

“Well not that this conversation about numbers isn’t terribly thrilling but is there anything you wanted in particular?” He gestured the bowl of fish custard towards her and she couldn’t wave her hand away fast enough. “Perhaps there is a specific reason you chose now to actually speak to me.”

_Abandon master plan, turn and run_ her head screamed at her because, of course, what could she possibly say?

_‘Ah yes John you see, I, the girl you constantly seem to enjoy winding up, have decided that I may have a tiny crush on you that isn’t the size of a supernova, by the way I was lying about the supernova thing. It most definitely is.’_

Somehow Clara couldn’t see that going down particularly well. Instead she reverted to the next best thing: change the subject.

Quickly.

“What I don’t understand is why you have all this space and you never use it, I mean I didn’t even know you had a swimming pool until three days ago yet here we are in a kitchen of all places…” She was rambling and it was not helping her cause. _No one said it had to be a good distraction_ that tiny voice said again and for once she was glad to agree.

“Ok if you’d like to take our conversation to the pool I am more than willing to ask why you weren’t speaking to me while we play pirates.” Sometimes she really wished he would stop smirking. Other times she really didn’t.

“It was a shock to the system that’s all, I’m not really used to putting on a persona or acting the part,” she ran a hand along the marble countertop, “I mean that’s all this is right? Playing the part?” She looked up at him with eyes that were quite possibly too earnest hoping for a certain response that wasn’t going to come.

“You’ll get used to it.” The bowl clattered as he set it down much harsher than necessary. For a split second Clara had thought she’d hurt his feelings but the same beaming grin that promised everywhere looked out at her again and she knew that no one as insignificant as her could dent John Smith’s impermeable armour.

“You should get some sleep, I’ve got us a big day planned of lounging around with the Ponds and you need to be well rested for that.”

“You’re probably right, I feel exhausted.”

“Well I wasn’t going to say anything but those bags under your eyes are getting a little big.” On instinct he recoiled as she began swatting him with a nearby tea towel for his cheek. Somehow despite his deeply teasing nature Clara found that she never enjoyed herself more when he was making fun of her. Some part of her almost purred like a cat simply because he noticed her and it was rather worrying to say the least.

—————————————

_Phase Two: Utilise other assets AKA Amelia and Rory Williams (Apparently not Pond)_

“You weren’t joking.” Phase two wasn’t going fantastically well either.

“You’re the one who said we never use the pool and now that I have so generously brought you here- with a swimsuit and everything this time might I add- you accuse me of joking. I’m wounded Clara Oswald truly.” Why did he have to be so dramatic? And why was he so attractive when he was doing so?

The universe was _not_ Clara’s best ally today.

“Funnily enough, I’m not so sure it’s the pool I think you’re joking about but perhaps the pirate hats and swords? They aren’t real are they? Jesus John please tell me those aren’t real.”

“Relax it’s fine, if you’re fighting Rory it’s unlikely he’ll get close enough to stab you.” He must have sensed her terror at the idea of him being allowed anywhere near a sword before he broke out into a loud laugh that warmed her from the inside.

“Of course they aren’t real Clara, seriously what do you take me for?”

“The kind of person who plays pirates in the pool when they are nearly thirty?”

“Oh no don’t mention the t-word.” Amy appeared out of no where taking a sword from John before acting like a swash buckling pirate, swiping at invisible enemies as she went.

“He hasn’t quite registered that as a real number yet let alone his soon-to-be age.” Rory chimed in. Unlike his wife he had ignored the swords and had gone straight to lazily swimming up and down the length of the pool.

“I have no clue what you are on about, I am still twenty one.” John suddenly clashed swords with Amy beginning, what Clara supposed, was a mighty battle in some parallel universe.

“Yeah like a thousand years ago.” Amy snorted.

“You’re one to talk Pond,” he cried as he gave an unnecessary spin before allowing their weapons to meet once more. “You’re eyes are looking all liney.”

Even Clara had the foresight to know he shouldn’t have said that.

“I think we need drinks. Clara do you want a drink? I think I’m going to go get us all a drink.” The speed in which Rory leapt out of the pool was mightily impressive but Clara didn’t think it was going to do him much good.

“Rory. Do I have noticeable lines around my eyes now?”

“No.” He should have turned around. Rookie mistake.

“You didn’t look.”

“I noticed them earlier- didn’t notice them! I specifically remember not noticing them.” Rory looked as if he was about to break into a sweat, desperate to be free of Amy’s withering gaze. Eventually she had the kindness to realise him with a shake of her head.

“Go get the drinks Rory I’ll have a lemonade- feel free to add any alcohol you choose.”

“That will be none then.” John smirked before Amy ‘stabbed’ him in the arm. “I’ll have an alcohol- feel free to add any lemonade you choose.”

“Very funny.”

“Yes I amuse myself.”

Clara smiled at the exchange between the two friends but she knew her best bet for information was to follow Rory.

“I’ll come help you Rory.” And with that she trailed after him to an actual bar they had in one of their hundred living rooms.

It was a classic room, like something from the 70’s, it clearly hadn’t been renovated like some of the rooms had, including Clara’s own. The floor was a plush red carpet the kind you see in a function room of old halls when you go for a christening or a wedding of an aunt you haven’t seen in twelve years. The bar was mahogany with a gold bar going round the bottom as if they were in a local pub.

Clara wondered if the room had been built as some sort of strange aristocratic joke. To design a room like a place you would never visit had to be some sort of twisted humour right?

“Help yourself to anything, the Dark One doesn’t usually come in here.” Rory called from behind the bar, still dripping wet from the pool.

“The Dark One?” Clara had a feeling she knew who he meant.

“John’s dad.”

She was right.

“We’ve been taking alcohol out of here for years, when we were at school it was the easiest way of getting hold of it. Once Thing one and Thing two figured out he didn’t notice it went missing they began the road to alcoholism.” Clara laughed at the terms of endearment he gave John and Amy but she couldn’t help but wonder if he ever felt left out, being the sensible one in their trio.

“What are you thinking?” Rory cocked an eyebrow.

“What? Oh nothing really I was just wondering…” _Now or never Clara,_ she knew phase two had to start somewhere might as well start big. “Wether you would tell me about Rose Tyler?”

Rory Williams actually smirked. The straight laced, kind soul, nurse Rory Williams _smirked_. Clara wasn’t sure what was more terrifying: the fact that he knew how to smirk or why he was smirking.

“If you don’t want to that’s fine I was just wondering that’s all.” Clara was backtracking but if it stopped whatever was happening on Rory’s face then no one could stop her.

“No, no I’ll tell you anything you want to know it’s just an interesting thing to be curious about that’s all.” That’s a start. She could take him silently judging her as long as she found out everything she needed.

“Ok, well start from the beginning?” Clara hopped up onto a leather bar stool.

“Well they met at Uni,” Rory began.

———————————

**Oxford University, 7 Years ago**

“ _Come along Pond, It’s an adventure!” John cried as he dragged a grumbling ginger along the corridor behind him._

_“This is not an adventure this is a party and I, for one, am sick of parties or ‘adventures’ because we had an ‘adventure’ last night and the night before that and the night before the night before that!” John was not deterred as he gripped her hand harder and pulled her up the stairs to a flat, which he assumed was where the party was at by the blaring music._

_He opened the door and the sound immediately hit him, quickly followed by the smell of spilt beer._

_“Come on Pond get into the spirit of things.” He passed her a bottle from a plastic table set up by the wall and just like magic Amy had entered the party. She promptly let go of his hand to set herself centre stage as she began dancing in the middle of whoever’s living room this was._

_If she kept moving her hips that slowly John might have to call Rory who was currently studying for a big test._

_It was no surprise John and Amy had been accepted but a few strings had been pulled for Rory on the promise of exemplary results and a new computer lab._

_John made the rounds of the room saying hi to friends and making new ones with ease. He stopped by the kitchen for a sip of his drink which was when he saw her across the room as if they were in some 2000’s romcom with him zoning in on the way she laughed._

_The girl in question he knew was Rose Tyler. The blonde hair with dark roots upswept onto her head would have been a dead giveaway if it weren’t for the famous tongue and teeth smile the paparazzi loved to praise._

_She turned to meet his eyes, obviously noticing his gaze on her and for a second his heart stopped as she gave him her acclaimed smile. He could have died on the spot and he would have died happy._

_She excused herself from her conversation and with her drink in hand she had nearly sashayed over to him, confident in herself and her extremely short skirt.,_

_“Hi, I’m Rose Tyler.”_

_“I know.” He blurted and John had never felt so uncool, so out of control in his entire life. When she laughed, however, and touched her hand to his arm, he could have sailed through time and space._

**3 Weeks Later**

_“You’re crazy.” She giggled as she looked at the tickets in his outstretched hand._

_“Not crazy…spontaneous.”_

_“Call it what you like I’m not jetting off to Venice with you, we’ve only been dating for three weeks we should probably wait a little while?” She looked amused with his antics which was a good sign._

_“Yes and I bought them two weeks ago therefore I already have waited.”_

_“This John Smith is why I called you crazy and not spontaneous. What if we get seen? You try explaining to my parents and I’m assuming your parents that we are just being ‘casual’, I’m sure you’d give them a heart attack!”_

_“Well we just won’t get seen then.”_

_“And how do you plan on doing that then Oh wise one?” She rose her eyebrow in that adorable way that made him actually think for once. If he knew that in just six short months that eyebrow would become the bane of existence he may have admired it for just a little bit longer._

_“I am the master of disguise, I can go as Elvis and you can go as the pretty young thing on my arm.” He rejoiced internally as she laughed and swatted his arm._

_“In your dreams pal.”_

_They went to Venice._

**3 Months Later**

_“Jesus Christ Rose what do you expect me to do!?” He practically screamed waving his hands around like a mad man trying to get through to the obstinate woman stood across the living room._

_“Oh I don’t know John but when your father tries to discuss marriage with you, -to ME let me remind you- don’t change the subject or choke on your drink!” He expected the neighbours may be down soon to complain about their noise level._

_“It’s been four months! You were the one who said we should go slow and casual, we only got spotted because you had to have chips at bloody midnight! Are you surprised the whole world wants us to get married?” He ran a hand through his hair as he became steadily wearier with this fight. “I’m only twenty one, I don’t want to think about marriage yet.”_

_“In our life it’s inevitable John and it’s likely going to be with me so why are you so panicked about it?” She glared at him, her eyes that usually remind him of sunlight and happiness stared him down, dark and cold._

_He loved her, he really did. Well he supposed he did. Which was why he was so surprised at the way his stomach lurched at the idea of marrying her. Not marriage- but her._

_John didn’t know what to do. It was all too much too soon and he had fun with Rose, they travelled and went to concerts and she was friendly with the Pond’s. Sometimes she could be a bit demanding sure but that came with the socialite territory and he had met Jackie Tyler; in a way he was coming out lucky in comparison to Pete._

_Sometimes he looked at her and she was his best friend and nothing more. He didn’t really know what to do with that information._

_Instead he crossed the room and pressed his mouth to hers, eager to end the argument just so he didn’t have to think anymore about all of the things she was telling him and all of the things he was telling himself._

_His hands were in her hair and she was clawing at his back as he lead her back to his bedroom and as much as he was enjoying it, the overwhelming feeling of something not being right settled in the back of his mind and he knew it would refuse to leave._

**7 Months Later**

_“Are we going to Ian and Barbara’s wedding?” Rose called out in a bored tone._

_“Yeah I suppose we best had,” John replied in an equally monotone voice._

_He wasn’t entirely sure when it had become like this. At first she was all he thought about, what would make her laugh and where he could take her. He would talk endlessly at Rory and Amy about every little thing Rose did just because he cared about her so much. Then the fighting began- but he didn’t really mind, the making up was worth it._

_Somehow they had ended up here. Living together but completely disconnected. He felt like everything was an obligation, even sex, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Admittedly, John Smith didn’t know a rather lot of things._

_The papers seemed to adore them and every time they were in public it felt like a show, as if he were performing the love of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ rather than living it. Rose didn’t seem to mind and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. Then again he plodded along, doing as he was told, booking restaurants and showing up with a smile perhaps she was doing the same._

_It was like he missed her. He was near her all the time but he wasn’t really. He just wanted his friend back._

_In hindsight, that should have been a warning sign._

**Two Years Later**

_“Well John I never thought I’d see it but you’ve done well.” John knew it was a backhanded compliment but he took the praise from his father anyway, it was very hard to come by if your name was John and you were his son. “You’re doing your masters and you’ve got a wonderful girlfriend of the right…pedigree.” Jesus he talked about her like she was an animal._

_“Thank you Sir.” All he had to do was grin and bear it for one afternoon._

_“It’s been a few years now and I think we all know that you and Rose will be getting married.”_

_No, John thought, I’m not quite sure we did all know that._

_“That’s why, I got your grandmother’s ring from the vault, it’s the Newman ring not the Smith as your mother obviously has that one but I thought you might take the chance and propose.” His father opened up a black, velvet box to reveal a ring with three, large diamonds at the centre surrounded by small diamonds along the band. It glistened in the light of the sun and it looked beautiful. Yet it filled John with an overwhelming sense of dread._

_Rose’s father Pete Tyler was also present and clearly on board, willing to give his blessing to someone who was not ready to receive it._

_John knew he was spontaneous. He moved fast, he did things that he wanted to do when he wanted to do them, but those things were right for him. In his heart he knew when something was right (not that he’d ever admit that to Amelia for fear of being torn to shreds with mockery) and this was not right._

_All the time in the world couldn’t make this right._

_He supposed there was nothing he could do about it now._

_He took the ring wordlessly which was taken as a sign of him agreeing to marry Rose, which in a way it was. His father immediately poured them all a scotch in celebration and John would be ashamed to admit how quickly he swallowed his._

_As he prepared to leave the house, palms sweating in terror at the idea of what was coming, his mother came round the corner._

_“Hello my little Wanderer,” she touched a hand to his cheek and he felt like a child again. He wanted nothing more than to sink into her touch and become a little boy running away from school again, rather than a grown man running away from marriage, if he dared._

_“Not so little anymore mum,” he joked trying to seem like his usual self._

_“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to my darling, you know that don’t you?” She looked at him with such profound understanding in that one moment that he couldn’t hold it in for any longer. No one could understand him like that even if they tried every day for the rest of their lives, it still wouldn’t equal his mother in this one instance._

_“I can’t do it mum.” He sunk into the armchair in the hall, his head in his hands as he finally allowed himself to acknowledge everything he had been suppressing. A sob wracked through his body as she knelt beside him._

_“Do you love Rose?”_

_“Yes, I think so, of course I do.”_

_“So much you find it impossible to talk about?” He met her eyes, the kindest eyes he had ever seen and built up the courage to shake his head._

_“Verity!” His father called from down the hallway. His mother rose up, smoothing her skirt as she went. She called out a quick “I’m coming” before returning to John._

_She ran her hand over his hair, a pitying smile painted across her face._

_“I think you know what you have to do my darling Wanderer.” With that she turned to go, leaving John tear-stained and frightened for what came next._

_He held onto the ring for two weeks. He knew Rose had seen it by the way she suddenly had to get a different manicure from her usual French style. He knew Rory had seen it by the way he lectured him for one hour and twenty three minutes on the importance of love over duty. He knew Amy had seen it by the way she swiped it from his coat pocket and told him he wasn’t happy and he was going to continue not being happy._

_At the end of the two weeks he told Rose he couldn’t marry her. At the end of the two weeks he lost one of his best friends. At the end of the two weeks he hadn’t lost a soulmate._

_He returned the ring to the vault much to his father’s vocalised disappointment and he tried being free._

———————————

“Rose was fun, I liked her, John liked her and I think Amy liked her but honestly I’m not sure at this point, but Rose was a creature of duty to her family in a way John and Amy never have been.”

Clara had finished one glass of coke in the time Rory took to tell her his tale and she was quite certain the others were wondering where they had got to but she wasn’t going to miss this for the world.

Like the rest of the country she had fully believed in the love story of John and Rose that many declared had ended due to timing and the star crossed lovers would find each other again. Yet here she was, hearing how John didn’t want to marry her at all and for some unknown reason she couldn’t stop the little spark of joy that filled her at the idea.

They eventually made their way back towards the pool, however, Clara wasn’t focused on the twists and turns of this maze of a house for once. Instead she allowed her mind to whirl, trying to comprehend all she had learnt.

She knew for certain that John wanted perfection or at least that’s the first place her mind went. He didn’t want to settle and that knowledge terrified her. The question about their own charade sprung to mind and she wondered if this was another case of duty? What if he wasn’t able to walk away again and she was stuck married to someone she was starting to love when he certainly didn’t love her?

———————————

_Phase Three: Work Out How John Feels (If at all possible)_

“Come on,” he held onto her hand, almost dwarfing it in size as he pulled her up the stairs.

“I can’t believe you have a turret, who on earth has an actual real life turret?” Clara was grinning ear to ear as they ran up the round stone staircase. For a single moment she could have been in a fairytale if it wasn’t for the towel she was aggressively drying her hair with.

“I do.” He said as they stopped at an old wooden door which was so small even Clara had to duck slightly. She definitely did not find it very adorable when John had to nearly half himself to fit through.

Inside the rounded roof of the turret was stars. Painted across the rounded room was constellations and planets and meteors in the most beautiful detail that Clara may as well have been stood in outer space. Colours of the deepest blue to the most stunning amethyst swarmed her as if the galaxy had been given to her.

“Do you like it?” He asked her almost sheepishly and the urge to kiss this ridiculous man, who can brandish a fake sword with confidence but holds his heart in painted stars, almost overwhelmed her.

“Oh my- well my stars,” Clara joked over the sudden accuracy of her mother’s phrase. “It’s wonderful.”

“My grandfather painted it when the company started work in space travel, I think it’s the greatest room in this whole place.” He leaned against the wall his arms folded as a star exploded behind him.

“I think you might be right.”

Clara laid back down on the smooth stone floor and looked up like she really was stargazing. She could almost hear John considering in his head wether he was able to join her before he flopped down next to her.

His hand rested on the floor, inches from hers so she could feel the warmth radiating from it and if she moved her own ever so slightly closer in the hopes he would hold her hand that’s her own little secret.

They sat and stared for a while as time ticked on and she could see twilight settling in on the sky through the slits the tower called windows. She didn’t stop to consider why he was here with her when his two best friends were downstairs for a limited time only. She didn’t wonder why he only invited her and not Amy and Rory.

“Amy and Rory don’t actually know this place exists.” Clara was suddenly very worried that he could mind read.

Clara wasn’t exactly sure what to say. She couldn’t tell wether he was insinuating that they wouldn’t like it up here or wether he only wanted to show her. Sometimes he says so much but so very little.

Instead he carried on.

“Some of it isn’t real, my grandfather had quite the imagination so when I was watching him paint he would add little planets for me like that one over there,” he pointed up to a golden pyramid. “That’s Akhaten and that one over there is Raxacoricofallapatorius.” Clara burst out laughing at the ridiculous name.

“So you’ve taken me up here to show me something awesome huh?” She teased.

“I’d like to think so yes,” he attempted to smirk but Clara noticed his slight blush.

“Mission accomplished.” She breathed.

Do you feel safe?” He blurted after some further silence.

“Of course,” Clara responded slightly bemused.

“Give me a number out of ten, ten being ‘woohoo' and one being ‘ahhhh’”

“You’re being weird, why are you asking me this?” Clara turned her head on the ground to face him, trying desperately hard to ignore how close they were. So close she could feel his breath on her neck.

“After the whole incident, people chasing you down, calling you…” he trailed off and Clara saw his fist clench. She touched her hand to his, silently asking for access which he granted allowing her to slip her hand in his once more. “Pretending what my father wants us to pretend, anything could happen.”

“Thats what I’m counting on.” She didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked to her lips for the briefest of moments and she said a silent prayer that he felt the same way as her even for just this minute.

If that was all she was going to get, she’d take this wonderful minute.

They lay there. Just staring at each other as their heads were turned toward one another. Clara forgot the cold, hard feel of the floor underneath her and she could have been floating on a cloud, as long as he kept looking at her like that. The only sounds filling the room were of soft breaths as both of them refused to move in fear of ending the tension or making the wrong move forward, until finally he broke the spell leaving Clara bitterly cold.

It was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice over him and he was up in a flash and down the stairs without another word.

Clara sat up, her head slightly numb from the stone floor but that was nothing in comparison to the sting of rejection she felt coursing through her veins. She couldn’t understand what she had done. For a split second she had even thought he was going to kiss her but she shook that silly notion from her head.

She wanted to lay there forever under the false stars, in a pretend universe where everything else could be as fake as the constellations above including feelings.

However, Clara Oswald doesn’t mope. Instead she picked herself up and walked down the spiral staircase with her head held high.

_———————————_

“He’s never taken us up there,” Amy called from behind a new novel she was considering publishing.

“Well we aren’t his very special friend are we?” Rory attempted to say whilst brushing his teeth for bed.

“Do you think he declared his undying love to her or at least kissed her senseless,” Amy taunted with a hand to her forehead. She knew fine well nicely he would do no so such thing.

“The day the Doctor is ever open about his feelings is the day the universe gets rebooted,” Rory slipped into bed beside her.

“Big Bang two,” Amy mocked.

“Yeah, when those two admit how they feel it will be Big Bang Two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) References: Verity is his mother's name in the family of blood so I thought I'd stick with that.  
> The rest should be fairly obvious, I'm not exactly subtle.  
> I did get the chance to include one of my all time favourite exchanges of the Doctor asking Clara if she feels safe (allow me to dream someone could ask me that)
> 
> 2) This is not meant to be bad on Rose Tyler because I love her so I tried my best to walk the line of right but not right but let's be real she belongs with Ten anyway
> 
> 3) This would have been up earlier but can you believe as I settled down to write this I checked my emails and Catlike had posted so I ended up reading that and got nothing done. Let's not focus on all the other days I could have done this and let's blame her wonderful writing for me doing nothing.
> 
> 4) The Sagittarius thing is an actual reference so it's not just inserting myself into the story because it IS the best star sign 
> 
> 5) I would also like to add how much I enjoy the slow descent into madness shown via the chapter titles, I hope you like those because I'm not changing them
> 
> 6) There was probably another thing but I can't remember so please leave kudos or a comment! :)


	11. Swell. Did He Happen To Be A Prophet Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John deals with the aftermath of the turret and Clara is invited out to dinner by Harold Saxon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am the worst. I am so sorry this took so long I was in a complete mental block and if I'm honest I massively over compensated with the dramatics because of it.
> 
> Quick trigger warning for slight domestic violence, also a lot of hitting. They got really violent in this one, it's not my fault I swear.  
> Also this chapter was designed to make you hate Harry, nothing is good about him in this and I hated writing his bits because I do not agree with his flawed logic at all, he sucks and he is slightly deranged he is not designed to be a normal character in case you think the way he processes things sounds a bit extreme.
> 
> Anyway my apologises once again, hopefully the uploads should be more regular from now on and on with the chapter! :)

“Stupid stupid stupid!” John paced back and forth in the corridor his hands gripping his hair. If time travel were real, he would have redone that moment in a million different ways.

Why didn’t he say something? Why did he leave? Why didn’t he kiss her? Why does he want to kiss her? A million questions flooded his mind at once as he internally berated himself for fleeing, quite possibly, the greatest moment of his life so far. She had been so close, the warmth of her breath still clung to his skin and if he closed his eyes, he could still trace every curve of her face, but he’d been stupid. _So stupid._

“Bloody stupid!” He ended with a kick to the wall which definitely didn’t hurt his foot a whole lot. Ok it absolutely hurt but his own temporary insanity hurt a lot more.

“Tut tut tut,” Harry slunk around the corner, settling his side against the wall. “We wouldn’t want to cause any damage to the dear old place, now would we?”

“Piss off Harry I’m not in the mood.” John nearly growled. It was like the man had a signal, a special homing beacon that said, ‘John is upset: bother now’.

“Ah yes things didn’t go too well with the girlfriend then? Or is she more of a pet to you?” A grin spread across his cousin’s face as John’s hands gripped into fists.

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Aww did I hit a nerve? I’m only being honest, anyway it’s not like she really matters to you at all does she?” He was enjoying this far too much. Harold Saxon tended to get a sheer sense of pleasure out of other people’s pain. John suspected that’s why he treated Lucy so badly, not because of any dislike to her but more out of pure, twisted enjoyment.

“I said don’t talk about her like that.” John rounded grabbing Harry by the collar, his fist raised ready to swing until he heard a light cough.

“Excuse me John but I think Harry and I best be going to bed, right Harry?” Lucy stood in a silk red night dress; her pale skin almost ethereal in the moonlight streaming through the windows. Harry smirked slightly and attempted to raise his shoulders in a way that said, ‘what can you do?’.

John released him and he slid down the wall like a reptile, moving to his wife who he gripped tightly by the waist.

“Sweet dreams John.” He called out as they turned the corner and John was left alone once more.

——————————————

Sonic wasn’t waiting by his door when he eventually returned to his room and he resigned himself to a night on his own.

He flopped on to the bed, for once not bothering to manoeuvre the blueprints and plans, and simply groaned.

He dreaded to think of what Clara thought of him now. Not only had he roped her into a scam against the paparazzi and had her verbally abused by the aforementioned paparazzi, he had now taken her to a special, romantic spot and failed to be special or romantic.

God, he hated himself sometimes. He groaned once more.

If he thought about it, he wasn’t entirely sure why he had brought her there in the first place. He assumed he liked her in some way (he absolutely did but sometimes acceptance is key.) but he knew she didn’t like him. What was it she had said? “ _playing the part_ ” John wondered if she knew what a knife to the heart that was.

Despite his uncertainty he wanted her there. He wanted her to see the wonderfulness that is the turret and he wanted to confirm how wonderful she would look next to it.

If he were truly honest, he would say the turret paled in comparison when Clara Oswald was in the room.

He tried to force his mind to shut down and let him sleep yet here he was tossing and turning and praying for the personal torment to stop. He felt his eyes droop every so often and like a jolt he would sit up and realise the massive mistake he made- as per usual.

Eventually, he had enough. He knew where he had to go. He sprinted through the corridors toward her room barely attempting to keep quiet.

The carpet in the halls made him feel like he was sinking, deeper and deeper down to his shins as if he was wading against great tides to get to her. The air was thick around him as if the heating had been left on too high and he almost choked on it in his desperation.

He eventually reached her door; it was large and imposing and threatening and he certainly didn’t care as he began banging on it to be let it.

She opened it wide and smiled at him, that amazing smile that made you feel like it was created for you and only you. Her neck was bare, and her nightgown was white and flowing as if she were a girl in a regency movie waiting at a clifftop for him to run away with her.

“Clara, in the turret-” he trailed off. He didn’t know what to say. He hoped somehow, she just knew and could complete it for him. Of course, it was Clara, she always knows.

“I know. I love you too.” She smiled up at him and the next thing he knew he was kissing her. He pushed past the door and into her room, a bright light surrounding them as they moved. Her lips were soft, and her hair smelt of coconut and she was warm in his hands. he thought he must be dreaming; this couldn’t be real-

He was actually dreaming.

He sat up in bed dazed and confused as he wondered when he had managed to sleep before he’d realised what exactly it was, he had dreamt. Lingering images of Clara, almost mythic in his imagination, flowing white gowns and moonlit skin filled his mind and he attempted to cling to them in some sort of preservation of what he could never be brave enough to do.

When the dream ebbed away into nothingness like a disappearing fog, he allowed himself to mull over what it truly meant. Of course, he knew what it meant, he wasn’t blind, Clara was pretty and funny and challenged him in a way he liked, and he loved challenging her, pushing her to her limit and knowing she’d come back for more. Yet what it actually meant was far more concerning.

John didn’t find marriage appealing necessarily, after Rose it always seemed like something tainted. Then his mother died, and it felt even worse the prospect of saying ‘I do’ without her there. But the thing was if he did fall for Clara, like he slowly accepted he was, his father would expect nothing less than marriage especially after last time. Could he do it?

If he allowed himself, he almost enjoyed the prospect of marrying Clara, the dress she’d wear, the places they’d go, children-

But she didn’t like him. He couldn’t get married. He didn’t want to do anything that pleased his father.

Three strong reasons why he should never tell her how he feels and suppress it until it goes away.

 _Healthy coping mechanisms John_ , he thought, sarcasm dripped in his own mind.

He turned toward the lamp, snapping it on and filling the room with a golden glow that repelled sleep and further dreams of Clara.

———————————

The next morning everything appeared normal. They ate breakfast and were polite, Harry was a rodent and Amy hated the sun.

All so blissfully normal.

But it wasn’t.

John knew it, he could _feel_ it, the energy radiating between them of a missed opportunity that he should have taken. He internally kicked himself between every bite of toast and changed his mind with every sip of tea.

It would complicate things; she didn’t like him, and his father would approve. A new mantra that kept feelings at bay: if only it bloody worked.

Clara looked so wonderful, she always did, but something about the morning sun turning her hair golden and almost like honey made John grip his spoon a little tighter and his heart ache a little more.

“Harry, John, we’ve got business to attend to in my study,” his father dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, “the rest of you may amuse yourselves.” He waved his hand in a gesture that suggested he was bestowing a benevolent gift on children, not fully-grown adults with autonomy.

_Well_ , John supposed, _he never believed in freedom for anyone before, why start now?_

He shrugged his shoulders at Amy and Rory apologetically and caught Clara’s eye across the table.

He instantly wished he hadn’t. They were wide and honest and more emotional than John had ever allowed himself to be. They felt accusing and hot and burning and he couldn’t look away no matter how desperately he tried. He wanted to shout how he felt, take her in his arms and love her forever. He wanted to run far far away from Clara Oswald and everything her eyes promised.

John cleared his throat and stood, moving to follow his father almost robotically because Lord knows that man didn’t have feelings and maybe John could be more like him than he knew, maybe he _is_ more like him. Maybe it would be better.

He trailed out of the dining room and along to the study, arguably the worst room in the house, and tried not to picture his future here.

He’d have to have kids, it was sort of mandatory for the legacy, sure he wanted them, but could he really bring himself to raise them in the same way he was?

He’d have to marry someone of the right ‘pedigree’- god he hated that term- and he wondered if he would be trapped in a loveless marriage with someone who couldn’t come up with a singular response to his jokes or conversations or-

Clara was the right sort. The kind his father liked. If he had to choose anyone, he supposed it would be her. He knew it would be her. The crushing weight of her not being interested returned swiftly.

When he flopped down into the padded armchair by the window, he tried to shake the horrifying realisation of his structured future from his head to focus on whatever it was his father wanted to discuss.

“We need to discuss the future.” Swell. Did he happen to be a prophet now?

“Ah yes Sir, I’ve got plenty of ideas that we could-” Harry instantly launched into a spiel like he’d been waiting his whole life to give it. _He probably has,_ John thought with only a hint of malice.

“Yes, yes that’s all well and good Harold, however, it seems that you are the greater issue here John.” He lit up a cigar and John wondered if the man was looking for an early grave.

“Pray tell, what have I done this time?” John replied lazily.

“It’s more what you haven’t done- sit up straight.” John did as he was told. “You are inheriting the company, the house everything.” As if John didn’t know this. “You need to take a more serious interest.”

“My ideas are furthering your company!”

“Our company!” Smith Sr cried. “We don’t need your ideas we need your leadership; I need you to start thinking!”

“About what!”

“Taking over, doing more, establishing the future, dare I say marriage!” John’s eyes widened as he got the sense of what was coming next.

“You’re going to set me up.” He accused.

“No, no, not if I don’t have to, but look at Harold, he’s married, dedicated to the company and most likely will be having children soon,” Harry positively glowed with sickening pride. “And the lad isn’t even inheriting like you are!” That popped his bubble.

“Sir, if I might, if John doesn’t want the responsibility perhaps, I could inherit, I would hate to take away from someone willing and I know it’s a burden but if John simply doesn’t want it…”

“No. John inherits. That’s how this works.” Smith Sr said firmly.

Harry shrank back at the words. John would almost feel sorry for him if his intentions were in anyway pure.

His father gave them both a pointed look before moving onto matters that concerned the company as if this was some way to spurn John into caring or becoming the son he wanted.

\--------------------------------------

Clara was alone for the first time in a long while.

Amy and Rory had gone to London for the day with Mickey and although she had been invited, she knew they probably needed some time alone. At least that was the excuse she gave; she could hardly say she was waiting for John.

She didn’t even know if she should be waiting for him, after all, he was the one who had ran out of the turret the moment things turned even slightly romantic. She sat up for hours in her bed, with Sonic as a very special guest, desperately thinking over every possible scenario; landing on the conclusion that he simply didn’t like her, at least not in the way she liked him.

She found herself in the library once more, the safe haven of the house. The fire was lit against the chilling January air and she found herself for once at peace in this explicably odd house. Though she knew the reason the house was so strange was because of the people inside of it.

She settled down to read to the sound of a ticking clock and the rain on the windowpanes, as time slipped past for the first time in god knows how long. She was absorbed in a world of wonder about a time travelling alien and his assistant he very clearly loved, and Clara tried desperately hard not to draw parallels between the alien who couldn’t admit feelings and the man who called himself the Doctor.

A light cough came from behind her and she nearly dropped the book in fright.

“Oh Lucy, it’s only you, I didn’t hear you come in.” Clara painted on a smile, feeling ever so awkward around the woman who claimed to love Harold Saxon.

“That’s alright.” She lowered herself into the chair across from Clara, her knees pressed tightly together at an angle that screamed poise. Clara suddenly felt extremely self-conscious curled up in her fuzzy socks. “You seem quite at home here.” Lucy noted in an almost questioning manner.

Clara’s eyes raked over the Jackie O style suit and the perfectly styled updo that made her look like a corporate wife rather than a visiting guest. Clara supposed she _was_ a corporate wife; she just didn’t realise it was a permanent position.

“Oh no not really, I’m only here for a month, which I suppose is coming to a close soon,” Clara couldn’t help but sound more eloquent around this woman, her whole stature seemed to demand it.

“Well that is quite a shame, it seems like John quite likes having you around…” Clara got the impression under the almost whispery voice that Lucy was fishing for information and she wasn’t quite sure the intent was good.

“Yes, well we are friends, new friends, I’ll miss him when I leave.” She snapped the book back open hoping to convey the message that the conversation was over.

“Hmm indeed. Enjoy your reading Clara.” She rose again, leaving the room as if it were beneath her in the same way she spoke the word ‘reading’. Clara shuffled back into the chair wondering what it was Lucy was looking for and why exactly it set her nerves on edge.

\-------------------------

After Harry had been released from the meeting, wherein he was told in no uncertain terms he would never be John, he’d gone searching.

Searching for what he didn’t know, something, just anything that could make John feel as worthless as he did. The bastard was still in there now being handed a fortune 500 company on a silver platter and he had the audacity to turn his nose up at it. Meanwhile Harry was ready and waiting and would do anything for the company.

He’d told Lucy to wait in their room and that he’d be up later, but he really had no intention of seeing her. Sometimes, when she wasn’t serving a purpose, it was best to have her out of the way.

Initially, marrying her had been genius. She was of the right breeding, she was stunning, and she’d been out with John, everything Harry looked for and yet, the nagging hole in his chest wouldn’t go away. He wondered sometimes if it ever would.

He loosened the tie around his neck as he paced the corridors, willing inspiration to strike, when suddenly: it did.

Sat by the crackling fire was Clara, or more specifically, Clara _without John._

Harry thought she was attractive, sure, he’d had a few unsavoury thoughts about what he’d do to her just to spite his baby cousin. She was a bit too smart mouthed for him, but he didn’t exactly need her for the long term, just long enough to piss off John, to put the nail in the coffin.

He had his suspicions about why she was here, although his uncle would never confide in him his reasonings for anything, but if Harry could get in there before John, he knew John would never marry her in a thousand years.

“Hello Clara, how are you?” he plastered a fake smile across his face as he slithered into the room, the second Saxon to bother Clara that day.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Clara replied stiffly. She was clearly in no mood for conversation but what she wanted didn’t really come into Harry’s mind at all.

“Can we be honest with each other, Clara?” He allowed her name to roll around his mouth as he said it, like a fine wine he was tasting. He didn’t miss her shudder.

“If you’d like.”

“I’d like to take you to dinner Clara; would that be ok?”  
  


“Um, I think-” Her eyes widened before he cut her off.

“Don’t worry, Lucy knows, it’s all above board.” He lies like second nature now. “I’ll meet you in the hall at seven, wear something nice.” With that he took off down the hall again whistling a tune as he went, floating on success.

\---------------------

“Ah Clara you look wonderful!” He declared as she descended the stairs, her knuckles white on the bannister. He had to keep everything calm and neutral until they were at the restaurant. When they get there, he’s more than welcome to comment on her tight dress or the way it made her figure look if he so chooses.

He’d told Lucy it was a meal with a client for the company and that she should eat in her room tonight as she’d be the only one home, he’d see if he needed her later. If his plan worked out: he wouldn’t.

He told Mr Smith he and Lucy were going out and that Clara was visiting a friend, Nancy or Mila or something.

He’d told John nothing but to meet him in the hall at seven, just in time to watch her come down the stairs.

Harold wasn’t stupid. He didn’t miss the way John let his eyes rake over her body in the same way he planned on doing later. He certainly didn’t miss the way Clara looked to John before him in a vain hope of him coming. However, he certainly enjoyed the way John’s fists clenched and his eyes burned when he offered Clara his arm and she hesitantly took it.

He guided her out to his car, similar to John’s TARDIS or whatever it was he called it these days, except it was a sleek black and far more impressive, or so Harry thought.

Clara climbed in through the door he opened for her with a nod of her head in thanks. Harry allowed himself a glance through the window to see John simmering and the smile that spread across his face would never disappear.

They sped along the country roads toward the small yet classy Italian restaurant that was situated on the lake only a few miles from the house. It was owned by someone in one of the local villages and it was one of the only places in the area that Harry didn’t despise for being _quaint_. The song ‘I can’t decide’ blasted through the speakers and Harry was pleased to see Clara humming along, almost comfortable with him.

When they arrived, the moon reflected in the lake as the stars danced along the mirrored surface and the candles flickered inside the restaurant. He’d booked the whole place out as Harry learnt from a young age: money talks.

He placed his hand on the small of her back as he guided her in and refrained from gripping her arm, as he would have done with Lucy, when she flinched away.

They ate dinner and made polite conversation if a little dull, the old Italian music soothing the silence. He wanted desperately to tell her what he wanted. The more he thought about it the more he could actually see the long term with Clara. He couldn’t divorce Lucy, that was obvious, however, everyone knew that men in this life had mistresses, lord knows Smith Sr probably had one or two in his time.

As he sat and admired the curve of her lip, he thought about every possible scenario. Holidays abroad when he was tired of Lucy, her younger, prettier body when Lucy was having children. He’d buy her gifts, preferably ones she could wear just for him and John would have to endure their illicit affair. It was perfect

  
Yes, the more Harold thought about it, the more he thought Clara could become a permanent fixture.

“Clara, come walk on the dock with me.” She rose slowly from her chair and he found himself admiring her figure as she did so. For once he and his cousin had something to agree on.

The wind whipped at her curled hair, but the dress remained tight to her body and Harry almost jumped with glee at the way this was going.

“Clara, I think it’s very obvious that I think you’re stunning.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She gripped the wooden railing of the dock as they looked out over the expanse of the lake.

“But I also think you are, dare I say, incredibly sexy in a way I didn’t expect myself to.” Her eyes snapped up to his. “that’s why I think we should…” he trailed off as he moved forward, his hand rising to her cheek as he moved to kiss her-

Smack. She slapped him across the face.

“What is wrong with you!?” She almost screeched before slapping him again. “You are married! I am not interested! Where would you get the idea that I would be?” She began to pace up and down her heels clacking on the wooden boards.

“Why on earth would you think this is ok? Did you expect me to become your _mistress_ or something?” She spat the word ‘mistress’ and Harry felt his blood begin to boil.

“How dare you speak to me like that?” He gripped her arm, pulling her flush against his body. “Now this is how it works Miss Oswald, you either come with me now back to the car where I will drive us to a hotel, and you’ll spend the night with me, or you walk. Your decision.” Harry had her. He knew he did. She was playing hard to get.

Instead she wrenched her arm from his grip and gave him another slap for good measure.

“I’ll walk. Every time.”

“Fine.” He spat, striding back to the car. He sat and waited for five minutes content that she would change her mind and that he’d find out what was underneath the black dress after all but when she tottered past in her heels, he knew his plan had failed.

He slammed his fists against the steering wheel before speeding off back to the house leaving her in the moonlit night as the clouds began to build.

\--------------------------------

He screeched to a halt on the gravel pathway, not bothering to park and stormed inside. He stomped past the stupid dog that growled at his ankles. He shoved past John who appeared from nowhere at the dog’s side his head instantly whipping around for his golden girl.

“Where is Clara?”

“Where I left her.” Harry hissed not bothering to turn back.

He threw the door open to where Lucy was sat filing her nails. She instantly rose coming towards him.

“Did the deal with the client fall through?” Her question was met with a smack across the face.

“On your knees.” He commanded.

\------------------------------------

Clara was disgusted. She had never particularly liked Harry, but she had never thought him capable of that. He acted like she didn’t have an opinion, like she would be interested never mind the fact that his wife only sleeps down the hall from her.

To top it all off he had left her in the middle of nowhere just because she said no.

  
Her phone had no signal of course, her feet were killing her in these heels, and no one was around because he’d booked out the full restaurant.

Clara shivered as she walked, half from the chilly January air, but also from the sheer uneasy feeling harry had filled her with. The sinister smile that spread across his face filled her with dread when she realised just how serious it was. He truly believed that she would agree to that, that she could possibly ever do that. Worst of all, he thought violence was a convincing argument.

Clara suddenly felt a rush of emotion for Lucy Saxon and for everything she had to endure.

She rubbed at her arms to combat the cold, until she felt the pitter patter of raindrops on her skin. It was just her luck that it chose now to come back. Clara wanted to scream. Scream of frustration, cold and anger.

Why was it that the Smith family caused her so much hassle?

She’d been walking for half an hour, her feet blistered and sore when she heard the car coming around the bend. She was blinded by the headlights, but she didn’t care; she was grateful finally for some human interaction.

She tried to sprint, but she couldn’t, and she nearly wept at the way her body let her down. The car stopped and the door opened and shut as someone ran towards her and Clara had had enough. She sank to the ground, soaked through anyway in spite of the puddles and she began to cry.

She said his name like a mantra as if he’d materialise before her to wrap her up and take her home. She’d barely known him a month and yet she trusted him completely. He was the one she wanted to be there and right now she didn’t care if she admitted it.

“John.” She was feeble at this point like a mewling cat wallowing in self-pity. Everyone deserved a little self-pity now and then.

She felt a pair of arms scoop her up, that were warm and dry and distinctly tweed.

“Oh Clara, my Clara what did he do?” she couldn’t care less to answer. She assumed this was her subconscious manifesting the one person she needed most, and she was happy enough not to question it and ruin the illusion.

She was carried toward the car; the wind shield wipers were a rhythmic thumping and the whirr of the heaters almost lulled her to sleep in her frozen state. Her saviour clicked her seat belt into place as she settled into the leather seat before placing a kiss on her forehead that was so distinctly ‘John’ that she said his name once more.

As the car began to turn around back towards the house, she presumed she spoke up.

“I want John.” Her eyes were hooded as if weights were attached and she may as well have been at the bottom of the lake.

“Clara, I’m right here it’s me, I’ve got you.” Clara felt calmed. Her mind knew what she needed to hear and in the possible but unlikely presence of John she drifted off to sleep.

\----------------------------------------

John didn’t feel quite as calm as Clara did. In fact, he was struggling to keep himself from dragging Harry through the house by his ear and beating him senseless.

After he had returned from dinner alone, John knew something had happened. Firstly, he had the wave of satisfaction over whatever it was Harry had planned failing before his heart was dropped into sea of ice and he realised Clara wasn’t with him.

He knew Harry. As much as his cousin hated to admit it, John knew him and how he worked. He knew the only restaurant he could tolerate in the area. He knew how he treated Lucy and most likely any other women in his life.

He also knew what he wanted from Clara and he knew that she had refused.

He had instantly gotten into the TARDIS and followed the road Clara would be taking in hopes he could spot her and when he did, he didn’t know whether to laugh with relief or cry at the state she was in.

She had said his name as he bundled her into his arms, and he assumed that meant she knew it was him. Yet she had no clue when she sleepily called out. His heart ached with happiness that she could want him and seared with hatred for Harry for leaving her out in the cold.

He rang the house to get one of the maids to run her a bath. Fury bubbled beneath his cold surface.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Clara turned jerkily in her seat. Water droplets fell from her soaked hair. He turned up ‘Wild horses’ as the rain hammered against the windows hoping it would calm her.

When he pulled up, he ran around to her door and scooped her body back up into his arms once more. He pushed down the selfish feeling of joy at being able to hold her close and focused on getting her warm.

Amy and Rory were stood in the hall shaking off umbrellas with grins on their faces.

“Oh, hello we just got…” Amy’s smile faltered just like her sentence when she saw Clara’s limp body in John’s arms and his panic-stricken expression.

“What happened?” Rory ever the nurse came rushing to their aid.

“Harry. He left her out there.” Amy had the same expression he had had when he figured it out. Rory didn’t have time for revenge.

“It’s not hypothermia I don’t think, so a bath should be safe, help me get her upstairs.” Rory moved to help carry her but something profoundly possessive gripped John and he held her tighter with a shake of his head. Rory instantly understood and chose to lead the way to Clara’s room rather than take her from the Doctor.

Amy and a girl named Gwyneth helped her in the bathroom while John paced with Rory outside.

“The one time actually being a doctor may have come in handy.”

“Technically, you are a doctor.”

“Not in the way she needed.” He slumped against the wall.

“Stop beating yourself up, this is no way your fault.” Rory always knew his friend had a tendency to take the world on his shoulders. As much as he liked to flaunt the rules and expectations, he had a self-imposed duty of care that could never be shaken. Sometimes Rory admired him for it, at times like this he wanted to kick him for it.

“I should have known.” He groaned into his palms.

“You couldn’t have possibly known. She certainly didn’t.”

“Which is why it was my job to, Rory. My responsibility.”

“The only one responsible for this is Harold.” At those words, the clouds seemingly parted for John. “No. No. Don’t you dare do what I think you’re going to do.”

“Back in a minute Rory.” John slapped him on the shoulder a false nicety or bravado to mask his impending fury.

He stormed along the corridor to Harry’s room, feet thundering into the carpet as he went. He didn’t knock. He didn’t have time and he, quite frankly, didn’t care.

He burst in to where Harry was sat channel surfing.

“Did you let the dog back in?” Harry’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. John wasn’t in the mood for some witty back and forth.

He grabbed Harry by the collar dragging him from his bed.

“What the hell are you doing!?”

“What I should have done in the first place.”

A resounding crack filled the room as John’s fist collided with Harry’s face.

“Don’t touch her again.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. the references were lacklustre, I think I'm slipping, losing my touch. Ok there was one or two but still.
> 
> 2\. Please join me in mutual hatred for all things Harry, Smith Sr and Linda 
> 
> 3\. I apologise once more but I'd like to say thank you to everyone who commented or messaging me asking me to update, it meant a lot that you were so invested and helped me get my mojo back
> 
> 4\. Would anyone like to write me an eleven x Clara mafia AU? No? just checking 
> 
> 5\. Is there anything you want to see? Any fun tropes at all because I'm a sucker for them but I don't want you to roll your eyes at me
> 
> 6\. I may have a fun Christmas ghost AU in my head, if you fancy reading that please let me know!
> 
> Leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed! or even if you didn't, I like them either way


	12. Newly Dubbed Not Gentleman Status

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of last chapters disaster that ends with a date and an all too familiar trope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I can explain myself I promise. (That's a lie. I absolutely cannot, I just suffer from a disorder called laziness)  
> I basically backed myself into a corner with my overwhelming dramatics from last time (that I am genuinely coming to dislike to that if I ever rewrite this story I'd probably fix last chapter the most but I digress) that I struggled to write anymore without it seeming just weird?  
> So I did my best, I Incorporated a classic fanfic trope for all you shippers out there as apology- please take my gift

Clara was vaguely aware that she was in the bath. She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d gotten there, and she wasn’t entirely sure why she was still in her underwear, but she assumed the really nice person massaging her head knew and she was happy to leave it at that.

The water lapped around her almost painfully warm in contrast to the Baltic outdoors and she would have slipped down into it, down and down and down, submerging her head if only the hands would let her.

She had a weird thought about a bruise; a vice like grip that had made its mark in the form of a purple stamp across her pale skin. For some reason when she let herself drift like she was floating, she was at a lake with the moonlight pouring down on her and the water splashing against her, washing away the vicious bruise.

Then her thoughts would snap, bending and breaking, and the moonlit water became icy cold and Harold Saxon’s face appeared and she was drowning as he held her under, creating the bruise on her arm as she screamed for the air to return.

“What the hell are you doing in there!?” A muffled voice entered her void, panic clinging to it as it clung to her whole body.

“Relax Doctor, we’re just trying to wash the shampoo off, she had a bit of a panic when her head went under that’s all.” A Scottish voice replied equally panicked but at least trying to pretend otherwise.

“Oh, is that all?” The voice returned snarkier than before with a small kick to the door.

“Clara listen to me, it’s Amy. Rory says you’ve had a bit of a shock what with the cold and everything, I don’t really understand a word he says but I trust him on it, which is why we are trying to get you warm. Once we’ve done that we are all going to go murder Harold Saxon, how does that sound?” The voice continued on and Clara found it almost as soothing as the water.

“Come on Clara I need you to be a little cognitive here, I’ve got a pacing Doctor on my hands and I’d really like to spare the carpet the holes he’s trying to wear into it.” Clara felt herself smile.

“There we go, come on a little smile I’ll take that- oi you two she smiled!”

Clara murmured something although she wasn’t entirely sure what.

“Ah so talking about John is rather helpful in keeping Clara Oswald conscious, isn’t that convenient and not at all surprising.” Amy muttered into her ear.

“Uh Doctor could you go and get Clara a hot chocolate or something?” A scramble could be heard from somewhere like an Olympic sprinter taking off and a slight snigger came from Amy…and Rory… and Gwyneth.

“Had to get rid of him, he gets terribly embarrassed when you talk about him liking someone, and his ego inflates enormously if you even remotely mention one of his good qualities.”

“So, here we go Clara your daily dose of John to keep you alive.”

“Tad dramatic Amy, she’s not on the brink of death.” Rory called through what Clara assumed was a door.

“Shush. Well Clara, let me fill you in on the gaps in your knowledge with a story of sorts. I always liked a good story when I was younger, but I think yours might be a bit more realistic than a time travelling face changing alien,” Amy sighed before continuing on.

“You see there’s a man out there, behind that door, that wears ridiculous bowties, that names his dog Sonic and has a very real fear of growing old. There’s a man out there that goes weak at the knees when you walk down the stairs in a pretty dress, who just punched a relative for hurting you and who is very stubborn about how he feels. There’s a man out there who would cross galaxies and harness the power of the universe in his hands to be by your side. And if you asked that man about the beauty of everything he saw while he was out there, the birth of a star, the decay of planets and the burning of a supernova he would look at you without an ounce of dishonesty and say that it was nothing compared to you. You see Clara, this strange and wild man I have the pleasure of calling a best friend is rather smitten with you in an almost fairy tale manner like a daring knight or the foretold hero and I know him well enough to know this will be your only chance to hear the extent of the devotion that man can and will give to you. Clara, that man needs you to wake up and be slightly more normal, please I am begging you.”

Clara wasn’t entirely sure she was listening anymore. She was back in the lake except now the moon was met with stars that glittered and shone amongst a newly colourful sky. A sky exploding with variety and constellations that warmed her heart. A man floated amongst them and he called to her asking her to join him up there and she wanted nothing more than to escape with him away from Harry’s clutches.

She thinks Amy was telling her something important. In fact, she _knows_ Amy was telling her something important and yet the more she tried to grab for the words the better they alluded her and the mistier they became as if they were breath on a mirror, destined to be wiped away.

Clara groaned then, aching to understand what was happening around her, to shake the disorientating veil shrouding her.

“I really hope you were listening to all that, the pair of you need a shove in the right direction…”

“Amy, I’m back I’ve got the hot chocolate!”

“Great pop it on her bedside table we’re gonna bring her out and hope she’s warm enough, that ok Rory?” Amy called, gently easing Clara up as she spoke.

“Yeah that’s fine. Need any help?”

“No, I think we’ve got her, maybe just clear off for now, we’ve gotta figure out how to get her into these pyjamas.”

“Has she got any big shirts? I always put you in those when you’re ill…or too drunk to figure out sleeves.” Rory suggested.

“I dunno, Gwyneth? See any big shirts when you unpacked?”

“No sorry, all her night things were rather fancy,” the maid finally spoke, a thick Welsh accent bleeding through.

“She can have one of mine.” A very familiar voice called through the panelled door. 

“Should have seen that one coming.” Murmured Amy. 

Clara felt her arms being gently pulled through a shirt that was much too large for her. It was soft and warm and safe. It smelled in a way that was entirely unfamiliar and intoxicating yet almost known in a way she couldn’t escape.

The bed covers were pulled up around her and they finally let her sleep without interruptions of lakes or planets or dazzling, boundless men in bowties.

\--------------------------------

“So…you punched him then.”

“I thought the situation called for it.”

“In your book the situation _always_ calls for it.”

“Perhaps that’s due to the villain of the book.”

“Clever.”

“I thought so.”

The voices filled the room lulling Clara out of a sleep she wasn’t aware she had had. The absence of dreams had led her to believe for however long she was out for that the world, and she along with it, had ceased to exist. 

She sat up groggily, stretching as she went.

“Oh, good you’re awake.” John called lazily from the floor where he was leaning half up against the wall.

“I see now you choose to act all calm and unbothered, since Clara’s awake. Do you really think we are going to let you forget your meltdown?” Rory was teasing. It was far too early for teasing.

“Shut up Rory.” Rory gave him a mock salute.

“W’as happening?” Real words weren’t necessary.

“You had a bit of an incident with the rain and Harold, you were rather dramatic about it.” John sniffed but quickly amended when Rory raised an eyebrow “but I’m sure you were well within your rights; it must have been terrible.”

“Oh. That.”

“We can leave you to it, if you want? Probably need to get your head around things?” Rory had a very calming bedside manner. Clara appreciated that about him.

“Yeah if you don’t mind. That would be great.” John looked like he did mind, very much indeed, but he gave no fight when Rory ushered him out.

Clara felt like she had been hit by a truck. A very big, yellow truck if she was going to be specific about her melodrama.

She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the lights making her skin appear paler and more ghostly than usual. Maybe that was just her. A cotton shirt clung to her. She breathed in the scent from the collar, her nose becoming stuffy and she knew a cold was coming.

Great.

She wondered what it was that made Harold do it. Delusions? Insanity? Genuine belief that she could _ever_ be with him?

It made her head spin trying to cope with the logic of a madman. She turned her thoughts elsewhere.

The whole event was rather vague. A mixture of leather seats and the warm air of a car heater that progresses to safe arms and a worried face and eventually ends with the same face looking over her as the hand it owns strokes her hair.

She suspected most of it was accurate, that she wasn’t entirely deranged with false memories but then some of it had to be a product of her imagination. It _must_ be.

The parts where she was walking amongst the stars hand in hand with John. That fading image was most likely made up or else Clara had a whole new set of space related problems to deal with. Amy’s voice echoed in her head like a narrator with words made of stardust and life itself and Clara almost wished those ones were true.

_Harness the power of the universe in his hands._

Something about that sounded especially delightful to Clara and she could almost wish it into existence given half the chance. It isn’t fair when your dreams are more compelling than reality, but she supposed that was what made dreams so special- they were unobtainable.

She knew she should shower. Wash away the whole ridiculous night and the wasted day but she didn’t particularly feel like taking off the shirt that dwarfed her.

When she finally parted with it, trading it off for the hot spray she began to think about where it was exactly she had gotten it from.

\-----------------------------

John and Harry sat in front of the desk as if it was not Smith Sr they were waiting on but an overly strict headmaster who thought medieval torture was proper practise and mourned its loss from society.

Harry nursed his bruised face with an ice pack and whimpered every time John so much as looked at him. He assumed it was an act. Afterall, how much can one man fear a bruise when his own wife was sat upstairs with a matching one he himself gave her?

On second thought that’s probably all the more reason Harry hit her. Because he feared the punches himself, he knew she would fear them too and they would work to his sinister advantage.

John bristled over his own thoughts, determined to fight back against his father if he even so much as _dared_ to grant Harold any sympathy.

As it happened, he didn’t have to this time.

“Harold.” Harry stopped groaning at the sharp tone. “If you ever treat one of my guests like that again, so help me God boy you’ll know the meaning of a punch.” He pulled out two crystal glasses.

“I think it’s for the best that you return to the city tonight, I don’t particularly wish to see you right now.” Harry’s face fell like he had been pushed from Mount Olympus rather than the Smith Mansion. John thought it sounded like he was getting a reward.

“Off you go.” He was shooed from the room.

His father picked up a decanter and poured two generous glasses of scotch. He wordlessly passed one to John and sipped.

“You punched him in the face?” His father’s face was blank, refusing to reveal any emotion. John knew that he was most likely angry with him and when the time came to grovel he would refuse. That was until his father started laughing.

He bent over double, tears forming in his eyes as he cackled. John had never been more confused and terrified in his life. Perhaps this was a sign of madness? Perhaps he had pushed him a step too far and this was the resulting spiral?

“Oh, good Lord I can’t believe you punched him!” He breathed out between gasps.

John started laughing too, almost stopping as soon as he started when he realised this was the first time he had ever truly laughed with his father.

They both sighed and swallowed their drinks in unison and even the casual observer would have raised an eyebrow at the bizarreness of the similarity.

“I thought you’d be angry.” John said.

“No, no it was the honourable thing to do after the way he treated Miss Clara. No, no you were right on. Right on.”

“If you think what he did was wrong why didn’t you punish him further?”

“What can I do to him? He’s a grown man who did nothing illegal, that I’m aware of, and he’s not my son. I can’t do anything but remove him from my house. I don’t really have the energy to scream at him and it isn’t my place- and if it were my place, I rather expect that from him.” John nodded a vague understanding although he was still entertaining thoughts of Harry being strung up by his toes with various fruits and vegetables being thrown at his body by Olympic shot-putters. Hell, he’d let them use the actual shotput.

“I punched a man once.” John’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Just some societal idiot who believed himself to be a big shot, he had made an awful comment towards your mother when we were dating, and I don’t know what came over me I just…swung.”

John couldn’t believe his ears. He wished he had a witness to this miracle, to his father opening up with a story that related to him. Maybe he had fallen asleep against Clara’s mattress again, it wasn’t comfy, but he found himself slipping away every now and then. He was most likely still there.

Instead his father carried on.

“She thought I was rather brave, your mother, called me her hero before my own mother whacked me across the back of the head. It was worth it though. Every ounce of pain.”

His father seemed to soften all at once. A stoic man melting before his very eyes. In an instant it stopped, and he righted himself once more as if the mask had never slipped.

A beeping erupted from somewhere in the room and his father took another red pill like the one he had seen him take at Gallifrey industries.

“Right then you best be off I have a lot of work to do.” John simply nodded thankful for once that his father had been, for the lack of a better word, kind.

“Oh, and John, I’m p-“ He stopped and sighed as he uncapped his fountain pen. “It doesn’t matter son.”

With that John turned to go.

\--------------------------------------

As Harry and Lucy drove away from the grey, stone mansion, silence enveloped the car. Their bags were tucked away in the boot and their ATMOS satnav was marked for home. Every so often Lucy wiped a salty tear away from her cheek before the makeup could run and before Harry could find another reason to shout.

As Harold seethed behind the wheel, jerking violently around country roads in frustration at being cast out by the Smith’s once again, Harry couldn’t help but think about the unfairness of it all. John would always be seen as the golden boy while Harry was forgotten, a reject. He had everything handed to him. John simply always got his own way and nothing Harry could do would ever change that.

Well, almost nothing.

Harry wasn’t stupid. He had seen the way the press had been dealt with following the events of the theme park. He knew fine well nicely his uncle wanted John to fall in love with Clara Oswald and he knew he was manipulating the press into believing that was the case.

It was a shame for Smith Sr that he didn’t have quite as strong connection to the press as Harold did.

It was also a shame that none of the Smith’s ever foresaw a fallback plan.

“Simeon, it’s Harold. I need you to release those pictures from last night. Mhm. Any with a clear shot of her face. Make sure everyone knows that the ‘mystery man’ isn’t John.”

He barely waited for a response before hanging up the call and fixating his steely glare back on the road, except this time his anger was morphing into victory.

\-----------------------------

John was rather sick of the press. They never took a day off. Sure, that’s cause news never stopped but he didn’t really think that the lives of him and his friends qualified as news. Especially not when the news was entirely falsified.

Clara was now completely fine after her strange stint of cold that Rory had explained a thousand times, but John still didn’t fully understand. He was far too worried about what would happen to Clara- in a completely platonic and friendly way- to focus on the details.

He did remember the bit where Rory said she would be fine after being warmed up, but he wasn’t a _medical_ doctor, so he was allowed to panic, just a little bit.

However, even if Clara was physically fine and back to reading her books- John’s books- in the library, that didn’t mean she was mentally fine; especially when grainy photos of her dinner with Harold were splashed across the front of ‘The Great intelligence’ for the whole world to see. Photos that suspiciously focused on her and claimed to not know for certain the identity of the man beyond the fact that it certainly was not John Smith.

John wasn’t entirely sure how Harold had wrangled this, but he was sure he had. Gut feelings about his cousin were very rarely wrong.

Suddenly, the press had become even more vicious about Clara, claiming she was breaking his heart- or as ‘the Kovarian chapter’ had said, she would be if he had a heart- and gave a few choice nicknames that he was surprised were allowed to be used in mass media.

Clara had instantly retreated into herself at the sight of the headlines and after last time John knew she would speak when she was ready. That didn’t change the fact that he abhorred the silence that followed.

His father, on the other hand, didn’t know the meaning of the word retreat. He was furious for some reason beyond his guest being insulted and instantly sprang into action booking restaurants and shows and ordering the penthouse to be prepared.

John was rather angry himself, but he wasn’t sure how West End tickets were going to help the situation.

When his father finally told him to pack a bag he didn’t know if he was a genius or evil. Maybe both. An evil genius.

That was how he found himself behind the wheel of his beloved TARDIS, with Clara in the passenger seat once more, on the drive back to London with specific instructions to act like they were on a date.

\-------------------------------

He hadn’t been to the penthouse since his father had called him home following his mother’s death. He didn’t realise how much he had missed it, the glass windows that covered every inch of wall, the view of the other skyscrapers and the lights flashing in the night.

He swung his small bag onto the couch and gestured for Clara to do the same. He smiled only slightly when she looked at him and placed it gently on the floor by her feet.

He wrung his hands suddenly awkward.

“Right. It’s dinner and a show then.” John never struggled with words. In fact, words were one of his strong points, funny words, clever words, especially long and convoluted words- he used them all. Somehow words weren’t being his best friend right now.

“We can do that right? Get through one night of pretending to be romantically attracted to each other?” He really hoped he wasn’t looking too much like a lost puppy. One glance in the mirror would have disappointed him.

“Yeah sure.” Clara clearly wasn’t struggling as much as he was. She had absolutely no worries about actual romantic attraction.

He led her to one of the guest rooms so they could each get ready without staring each other down. Well. John may have been staring- in a totally not creepy but complimentary way! Yeah maybe he should just stick to his separate room to avoid being a total freak.

John flopped onto the bed and groaned. Ever since he had met Clara it had been one thing after another, the pair of them just couldn’t seem to catch a break and he was starting to think they were cursed…or she was cursed. Either way there must be some form of curse or malevolent force sending them into the most bizarre and unwarranted situations.

He wrapped a bow tie around his neck and sniffed as he looked in the mirror.

 _Not bad_.

He thumbed the tickets for the show in his hand and waited nervously for Clara.

He wasn’t entirely sure _why_ he was nervous; he’d been on plenty of dates in his life and some very not important ones and this wasn’t even a real date. That didn’t stop the way his throat bobbed when she walked out in red- it was getting to the point where he needed a seat every time she wore a dress and he wasn’t entirely sure why.

He also wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not.

“You look nice.” Her face contorted as if he had said something wrong. He had said something wrong. “Better than nice!” Super! Fantastic! Pretty!” Stammering out a list of adjectives was not how he imagined this going.

“Uh thanks John.” She smoothed down her dress as he mentally kicked himself. _Again._

“I mean it. You look beautiful.” John hoped he’d gotten it right that time. When she smiled at him in that way that could convince move mountains if she just asked them, he knew he had.

He offered his suit covered arm. “Well Miss Oswald, will you accompany me to dinner?”

\----------------------------------

The restaurant was classy and upscale. Modern and white much like John’s penthouse and a far cry from the intimate restaurant Harold had taken her to. Despite the much better company, Clara was grateful that it wasn’t some sort of seductive and cosy date spot because that would have just made the whole night a hell of a lot harder.

She knew Smith Sr had arranged pictures to be taken of the two of them to uphold Clara’s public image, to show that she wasn’t two timing John even though she wasn’t even one timing John. That didn’t change the fact that even though she had only known him for a very short while some small, unashamed part of her mind would have sold her left arm to be on a real date rather than this pretence.

That’s why when the lights were bright and the whole place was extraordinarily _clean_ Clara was glad. Seeing John in romantic candlelight is really not something she could handle right now. It was a crush. A silly crush. If it even was a crush because at this point Clara wasn’t certain what it was.

She knew he was attractive, sure, in a strange, big-chinned, floppy-haired, bowtie-wearing way but he was still him. He was ridiculous; he flirted with anything that moved; he did stupid things in limos and he wasn’t her boyfriend nor was he interested in being her boyfriend.

_No,_ she hissed to herself, the constantly warring voices in her mind were starting up again. _We are not going down that route, he is a friend- barely a friend- and it doesn’t matter if he smells nice or if he pulled your chair out- that’s it._

He smiled at her from over the menus and made what she hoped was a joke about asking the chef for fish fingers in custard. Clara had never been so boring in her life. She had nothing to say, no conversation pieces or witty comebacks every other word was “sure” or “yeah”.

_It’s not a real date. Get a grip._

“Are you ok?” He was looking at her with concern. Concern was not good. Concern led to feelings and a psyche ward.

“Yeah I’m fine, just thinking about the last fake date I had.” He smiled and Clara shouldn’t have felt so triumphant about being a normal human.

“Ah so there’s a long list of men you have tricked into buying you dinner?”

“Naturally. A girl like me can’t be seen going on _real_ dates, that’s just absurd.”

“Isn’t it just.” For some reason he looked sad and Clara didn’t dare question it.

They ended up speaking about anything and everything and the more time passed and the more he told her about his favourite books and films- time travel or actual travel, either category would work- the more Clara was beginning to blur the line between fiction and reality.

In the small part of her head that wasn’t focused on proving herself to her father and his stupid board and just getting through tonight, she was dancing in the moonlight with this man who could only be described as a drunk giraffe and she was believing in the bloody power of sunsets and true love. God she was being ridiculous.

When he took her to the show, his hand on the small of her back Clara thought she had been launched into outer space. This could not be happening. He infuriated her. He was impossible to understand with a hundred different moods and silly thoughts and crazy schemes.

He also challenged her and pushed her and cared for her much more than he should considering the time period they had known each other.

The shows premise was interesting, it was all set in one location: a tour bus taking a group of people across a planet called midnight that led to disaster. The reviews were amazing, and Clara had genuinely been looking forward to it.

It was a shame she missed everything beyond the first ten minutes because John’s hand had somehow rested against her knee and everything after that had short circuited.

When they left the theatre, the cool air of the night hit her, she let out an involuntary shiver- really they should make these dresses insulated, with the tiny amount of fabric it’s the least they could do.

She wasn’t expecting John to immediately shrug his jacket off and wrap it around her, letting his arm linger a little longer than necessary. It smelled intoxicating and rather like that shirt she had woken up in yesterday. Despite her immediate and almost primal response to shrug further into it and allow it to envelope her, she also had the overwhelming urge to scream at him.

Why, oh why, did he have to do one of the single most romantic gestures known to man? She was trying not to develop feelings; she was trying very hard actually and she was doing an amazing job if she said so herself. Sort of amazing.

Yet here he was; undermining all of her hard work. Filling her with the scent of his aftershave and the warmth of being cared about- it just wasn’t fair.

This whole night was like a great big test. ‘ _Hey Clara while you’re busy pretending for the cameras can you also fend off all of these incredibly sweet and kind gestures from a man who is the dictionary’s definition of perfect and probably your soulm_ -‘

If it was a test, Clara was averaging at a C.

They rounded the corner onto the street where his building was, laughing as they walked about the character played by Catherine Tate who was a bit too similar to the sassy secretary at Gallifrey Industries.

That was when they saw the swarm.

If England had a set number of cameras in the country, they were all outside of the building they wanted to be in at this very moment. Every reporter that ever reported seemed to be waiting for them, clashing and clamouring against each other as they waited for the not-quite-a-couple.

“Ah.” John gripped Clara’s hand in his. “Well, I wouldn’t call that ideal.”

“What would you call it then?”

“A gentleman shouldn’t use such foul language.”

“Good thing you aren’t a gentleman then.” Clara raised an eyebrow at him, almost daringly.

“Touché. Well then with my newly dubbed not gentleman status, that’s a fucking shitshow.”

“How eloquent.”

“Hmm yes I thought so.’

“What do you want to do about it then?” Clara began nervously chewing at a bit of skin of her thumb, it was hardly dignified, but the cameras hadn’t noticed them yet.

“Well since we aren’t on a bear hunt we have no obligation to go through them.”

“Still can’t go over them or under them.”

“There’s a hotel, two streets away. Bit of a cop out except I really can’t be bothered to fight our way through that mob.” Clara’s whole body violently protested the hotel idea. Hotels never lead anywhere good.

“Seems a bit of an exaggeration doesn’t it? Spending the money on a hotel when we would only be inconvenienced for maximum five minutes.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He seemed disappointed, Clara wasn’t sure why he was or why it made her heart sink. “Braveheart Clara.” He breathed as he took a step forward. That was when they were spotted.

It was like a thousand bulbs bursting at once as cameras flashed and people hollered and moved towards them. With every passing second the hotel idea seemed nicer and nicer. John gripped her hand tighter before turning and sprinting in the opposite direction of the penthouse.

They ducked down every street imaginable with a hundred and one twists and turns as if they were in a maze or escaping a predator. Clara supposed they were.

Up ahead there was a cherry red phonebooth. Hopelessly out of date, completely pointless in today’s society but a convenient hiding place. ( _Note to self: ask to play hide and seek in that massive house- if they like tig they can stomach that)._

John pulled her in behind him, the door swinging shut with a clang. Their bodies were pressed firmly together, and Clara couldn’t deny how wonderfully warm he was or how soft his shirt felt when it brushed against her cheek.

“Of all the places you pick a phone box.”

“These are classic, and don’t you forget it.” Clara tried not to laugh. The friction it created was a little too pleasant.

“Oh look, someone’s graffitied ‘snogging booth’ on the wall there, just above your head. Is that what you think this is? There is such a thing as too keen.” Her voice lilted, threatening the balance between teasing and hope.

A crimson blush spread up his ears and across his cheeks as he started stammering.

“It is not a snogging booth!” He tried to lift a hand to his hair, but it ended up brushing her hip and he instantly snapped it back to his side again. “Well it might be but not for us, of course not for us.” Clara wasn’t particularly enjoying this kick in the teeth.

“Ok what’s the plan batman?” She swiftly changed the subject hoping to ease the crippling rejection she should not be feeling.

“Ooh I’m batman.”

“It’s a figure of speech and you know it.”

“Don’t be salty just because you’re Robin.”

“I am not Robin!”

“You’re so totally Robin.” She glared at him although it wasn’t as effective with her chin basically resting on his chest.

“Ok, how’s the hotel sounding to you now?”

Clara considered for a moment. The reporters likely would have returned to their spot outside the building after they had made their great escape so if they tried to get in it was likely to be a repeated process. On the other hand, being in a hotel room with John was not an option.

“Clara, I can see you doing mental gymnastics even in the dark. Relax. Stop weighing up the pros and cons.”

“I just don’t know how I feel about sharing a room.” God she sounded like a child.

“We can get sperate rooms remember.” She couldn’t tell if he was laughing at her or not.

Of course. How could she have forgotten? She was worrying this whole time for no reason; he didn’t even want to share a room with her.

Of course, he _did_ but that wasn’t something John was likely to admit.

They finally left the phone box/snogging booth and headed down a warren of alleys to come out at the Savoy Hotel, ready to book their _separate_ rooms.

\-------------------------------

“What do you mean there’s only one room!” This could not possibly get any worse, then again this was Clara- of course it could get worse.

“I’m sorry Miss but with everyone coming to see the show and the platform 5 convention, we’re booked solid.”

“This is the Savoy for crying out loud!” Clara wanted to scream or cry or maybe jump for joy.

John had his head bent against the sleek receptionist’s desk.

“I’m sorry Miss Oswald, I can only offer you the one room.” The receptionist didn’t look too sorry. In fact, she looked positively gleeful.

That was until John raised his head and said they wanted the room. The receptionist took one look at his face and, oh boy, then she was glowering. Her fingertips slammed the keys on her computer rather than tapped and Clara received a withering glare.

Well if that was how customer service was, Clara was going to revel in it. She slipped her arm through John’s as they walked to the lift giving her hair a slight flick as she went. If the bitch behind the desk had felt a twinge of jealousy well now she would be drowning in it.

She tried not to meet his eye when he gave her an amused look, his eyes almost twinkling.

“What?” She dared him to comment.

“Nothing, nothing.” He smirked.

\-----------------------------------------

The room had one bed. One singular, lonely, double bed. Clara had no clue what the protocol was here.

“Right.”

“Right.” 

Silence surrounded them.

“Well since it was my brilliant idea to get the hotel room, I can crash on the floor.” John offered, his hand scrubbing at the nape of his neck.

“Don’t be silly you’re paying for it, the least I can do is offer you a round of rock, paper, scissors.” She meant it as a joke, she wasn’t expecting him to take it literally. “Put your fist down idiot, we can share it. It won’t be the end of the world.”

“Knowing our luck, it will be.” That was a fair point, but Clara was trying to think positively.

“Can you unzip me?” She gestured towards her dress, “I don’t think I can get the zipper back down again on my own.” He hesitated before moving forward agonisingly slowly. His fingers traced the top of her bare back before moving to unzip and Clara nearly physically melted. This was going to be brutal.

“Oh my god!” He nearly leapt away from her in shock, the dress half undone.

“What!? What?! Did I do something?” His eyes were filled with panic.

“No! No, god no. I just remembered all of our clothes are at the penthouse. I have no pjs.” John’s shoulders seemed to deflate at this as if the tension or fear of having done something had drained away like water in an unplugged sink.

“Right, ok. Don’t do that ok? Nearly gave me the fright of my life.”

“Sorry,” Clara shrugged.

“You can have my shirt for the night.” Clara thinks she heard him mutter ‘again’ but she didn’t want to press the issue.   
  


“What are you going to sleep in then?”

“And you say I’m too keen,” he started laughing at her widened eyes. “I’ll sleep in my underwear Clara; I hope you can deal with that.” He was teasing her, and she was the blushing mess. This wasn’t how this worked- he’s the one who blushes!

“Fine. Pop your shirt off quick as you like.” At this he went a vicious scarlet. Now _that’s_ more like it.

When she came out of the bathroom he was lounging on the bed completely at ease and shirtless. His shirt grazed against her thighs and for once she didn’t miss the way his eyes noticed it.

She pulled back the stark, white bed sheets and crawled under suddenly desperate for sleep, or just anything that qualified as a distraction really.

She forced her eyes shut and turned herself away from him. It was like torture and bliss and confusion rolled into one big, problematic ball.

She couldn’t decide what she was feeling, annoyance or some sort of weird alien attraction- that was the confusion.

It was torturous because being in such close quarters with someone you didn’t know how you felt about and weren’t supposed to feel anything for was pure hell.

On the other hand, his body heat was right there, and he smelled really nice and in a strange way it was _bliss._

He was under the covers as well now and she was doing her very best to stay far, far away. She didn’t need any further reason to complicate her already complicated situation. Eventually, she forced herself to sleep with the help of counting sheep and a very impressive conversation with herself. John of course had fallen asleep straight away without a care in the world.

When she woke up, sunlight streaming onto her pillow through the weak hotel blinds she was even warmer than before. Her nose nuzzled into something firm and warm and oh so safe and her hand gripped onto a shoulder…a shoulder.

Clara’s eyes shot open when she finally realised that her hand was clinging to John’s shoulder as if it were a matter of life and death. He was closer than ever before. Even when he was hugging her or leaning down to tease her in that way their height difference called for, he had never been this close. This was not platonic close this was deeply romantic close which made it all the worse.

His own hand was gripping at her waist which was thankfully covered by his shirt and it seemed as if he were instinctively pulling her closer or guarding her in his sleep. His head was buried in her hair and Clara didn’t know if she could ever escape this tight hold, or if she even wanted to.

All in all, it was painfully domestic and served only to worsen Clara’s current mental crisis.

He shifted and murmured something about hot chocolate getting cold and Clara instantly stiffened. She knew she had to extract herself without waking him up. Imagine if he knew how she was feeling? He’d be freaked for a start not to mention how guilty he’d feel about holding her like this when she couldn’t even make her mind whether she loved or hated him.

Clara closed her eyes and tried to think of a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I'm slipping with the references I really think I am   
> 2) I just watched press gang for the first time and oh my god I would lie down in traffic if Spike asked me to- thank you again Steven Moffat   
> 3) I have a whole new series planned out it's ten parts, it's heavily influenced by press gang so if anyone is interested in that let me know (it's coming either way so you could pretend to be excited)  
> 4) that blocky bit of text at the beginning when Amy is telling her story is based on the last page in 'Angels take Manhattan' I wanted to take that style of story telling and incorporate it into a semi confession of someone's feelings cause spoiler alert these two idiots are never saying how they feel   
> 5) I genuinely have nothing to say beyond sorry and thank you to everyone who asked me to update it meant a lot   
> 6) leave a comment or kudos if you liked or if you despised it


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